Morgoth's Heirs: And the Coming of the Sin-Queen
by Lord Exar Kun
Summary: In the Fall of Melkor, Sauron was not alone in joining him. There were others. This is the tale of the coming of the dark elf Náthena to Middle-Earth with a grave warning of the return of Úcarëtári, the Sin-Queen. She brings with her a dark army of epic proportions and unknown make, as the War of the Ring is about to begin. And the Heirs of Morgoth will come to a great clash.
1. The Sin-Queen

**Chapter One: ****The Sin-Queen**

_ "___From splendor he fell through arrogance to contempt for all things save himself, a spirit wasteful and pitiless. Understanding he turned to subtlety in perverting to his own will all that he would use, until he became a liar without shame. He began with the desire of Light, but when he could not possess it for himself alone, he descended through fire and wrath into a great burning, down into Darkness. And darkness he used most in his evil works upon Arda, and filled it with fear for all living things.__

_…_...Morgoth, the Dark Enemy of the World. __

__ Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron, or Gorthaur the Cruel. Sauron was become now a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled, lord of werewolves; his dominion was torment."__

**The Founding of the Kingdom of Moriquendi **

Not alone in his fall was Sauron in service to the Dark One, Morgoth. Once, Melkor had been his name. 'He who arises in might.' Yet in his fall he brought nothing but hate, death, cruelty and will to destroy all creation, to usurp it with his own will, his own life, and with his own divinity. In doing this, the Dark One would need allies, who would be but servants to his will and power. Chief among them was Sauron. Once Mairon and a servant in service to the great Valar smith Aulë.

For when he became Sauron, he alone of the many Maiar spirits who fell with Morgoth would stand tall and indeed take onto himself the title once held by Morgoth as Dark Lord. This was not to say there were no others who had fallen, or those of great power as Sauron. Indeed chief in name was Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs. Rivaled in rank alone by Sauron himself. The Balrogs, all of them great fire spirits once, of the Maiar, who swore allegiance to Morgoth and forsook old ties, and old oaths. For the power, and the glory the Dark One could, and did promise to offer in return for fealty.

Yet even more of the Maiar fell. Many now called 'rauco.' Demon in the tongue of Quenya. Unspoken, and ill remembered in the minds of Men or Dwarves, and hardly a thought in the memories of the Orc-kind remains the name Vóriselyë. The name is old indeed. Its meaning, like the name itself, lost on those without the memory or wisdom to know it. Yet even this name is not as crucial as that of Úcarëtári.

Born of Quenya in speech once more, the name means 'sin-queen' in the common tongue of men. A Maiar born into creation by the almighty power of Eru, Vóriselyë became a patron to the Valar, Varda. Vóriselyë took up the form of what she chose as was blessed to all Maiar. A fair and beautiful woman. Hair of shining gold weaved with silver that shone bright in reverence, or some would say out of jealousy of the sparkling beauty of Varda. Her skin was fair and unblemished in vision, and so perfect that it seemed to glitter itself before any mortal who lay eyes upon her. As all Maiar seemed to mortals or even elves, she seemed perfect beyond compare save for the indescribably beauty of the Valar, and her lady Varda chief among them all.

Her eyes took the hue of glistening gray. Like the stars of her lady Varda they would sparkle, and with emotion fluctuate in glittering majesty. Her eyes were known among the Valar and Maiar as those which could bring lesser creatures to heel. Be it by their beauty or by the subtle power to stall that which moved before her, it mattered little. The piercing gaze given to her was matched by few, but certainly outdone by many chiefly being the Valar, and those of the Dark Power that was to come.

In respect to her condition, as a servant to her mighty mistress and lady of the stars, Vóriselyë was a dutiful student and watcher of her lady's magics, and art in forming the heavens above Arda for when mortal men, elves, and all children of Eru would be brought forth from nothingness into the world. Unlike her brethren Maiar, Mairon, Vóriselyë saw the world as a beautiful creation weaved by the Valar for Eru's simple creations to rejoice and be content. Something to be maintained, and kept in peace and beautiful for all to see and take delight in her lady's works and that of the fellow Valar.

Mairon, later Sauron, saw the universe in turmoil. A chaotic misshapen ugly thing that did not show any sign or respect for order and peace. The beautiful chaos in the eyes of Vóriselyë was foul anarchy in the eyes of Mairon. Yet, still Mairon endured his thoughts and visions of chaos for the sake of his master Aulë, and of Ilúvatar.

It was for both of them the same, however, when birthed into the world came forth Eru Ilúvatar's first children. The Elves. So graceful and perfect, or as close to such as lesser beings of some measure of mortality could be. Yet so prideful and arrogant. Wasteful in their pride, arrogant in their perfection, they were born of the world and came across to the shores of Valinor from the continent that would be Middle-Earth.

Then came man, the most arrogant, yet least perfect, the most blind and yet greedy, the most incapable, but most lusting. Barbaric hordes that were born of the Flame Eternal rose and given time would wage war.

So then too would the elves wage the first mortal war. They would seek to return jewels taken by Morgoth, the Silmarils, and to achieve this goal, slay their kin, and mar their memory and birth for many thousands of years. Then too came the third children of Ilúvatar. The mistaken creatures born of Aulë in his impatience, and made of the rock, the dwarves. Thinking himself mistaken, and seeking to undo the creation of the creatures, Aulë struck them down with his mighty hammer, and pounded them to the ground, yet Eru spared them. In adoption of these creatures as his third children, the One made them sleep only to awaken after men, and to remain 'halved,' by Aulë's strike against them.

So too then were dwarves born into Arda, and so too would they come under the power of greed, death, and war. So too would they mar the planet in its chaos.

Thus it can be said that Mairon became Sauron, to dominate the wills and minds of those mortal beings and lesser creatures to make them orderly and fix the One's mistake of the chaos that overtook them. Whilst Vóriselyë chose to become Úcarëtári to bring low those ravenous creatures that tore and broke, and soiled her lady's creation. The blissful chaos born into the universe by the One was being sullied by his lesser children, and so they needed either be destroyed, or made to be orderly as her fellow Maiar felt they should be.

And so, when Melkor, became known to the world as Morgoth, those of Valinor, and of the great mass of Maiar spirits, then found their ranks added to by his most powerful servant and spy for some time, Mairon, and a sorceress of terrible power and magic, Vóriselyë.

The great war began between Morgoth and the elves began. The War of the Great Jewels. And from within this conflict, was born many smaller ones, making this more of a period in time, wrought with war and stained in crimson blood, that smelled of metal born of that vital fluid that gave and maintained life spilling like oceans onto dirt and grass. Tens of thousands of elves, men, dwarves, and Morgoth's foul creatures, the orcs, died. Millions indeed fell and rose in might, along with trolls, and the terrible creatures known as dragons, like Ancalagon the great and mightiest of all serpents. These creatures born of darkness and mockery to life, rose and fell as did all who flooded to the side of Morgoth and of his enemies. Cities were razed, men of great renown, elves and dwarves were hewn, and waylaid. Hearts were broken, and families destroyed. Morgoth and his terrible wrath for the utter marring and destruction of Eru's creations came to bear against the combined peoples of Arda.

Gothmog led the Balrogs into battle and slew much of men and elves. Bodies burned and broken fell before them. Sauron, lieutenant of Angband commanded his master's forces in many things. Sauron became sire to the rise of the terrible beasts known as vampires and werewolves and unleashed these terrible hordes along with those of his masters creation. The trolls, dragons, orcs, all these creatures a direct mockery of those creations made by Eru. All of them in the eyes of both Sauron and Úcarëtári, disgusting and beneath them. Nonetheless, the foul creatures had their uses.

Vóriselyë gained her name, as 'Sin-Queen,' by unleashing the arcane, and greatly hidden powers of her lady Varda upon those who stood against Morgoth. Her beauty among the Maiar a great asset as it was used to sway the feeble weak minds and hearts of mortal men, and trick unsuspecting elves, or even awe the mighty and proud dwarves that came before her. The beauty of the sin-queen was a power over the men she came to understand. Visions and illusions of women were born of Vóriselyë's magic. The natural lust and dirtiness of Ilúvatar's creations used to break them down, make them weak, and give into cravings and baser simplistic lust. They satiated nothing, as nothing was actually born of the sorceress's illusions. Yet whole camps of men, who caved to lust, and to violence born of delusion and illusion by the powerful Maiar hidden among them, whispering smoothly and tantalizingly in their ears. Great feasts that satiated their gluttony, and vision blotted with gold, gems, and rubies that were not but could be, and in the hearts of men they lusted. Their greed knew no bounds for the visions of power prosperity and lust Úcarëtári imparted onto men, elves and dwarves. Elves proved impossible to twist to her will, but their pride led them to undertake battle against her and her faithful hordes of greed and worship. Many companies of elves came upon her in hope and waged war onto her and her house under the banner of the Dark One, and a great many she laid low, or captured to be taken before Morgoth and twisted and tortured to his will.

Men could not deny her, and when their lusts went unfulfilled, and their illusions taken from them, and all pleasure lost on these mortal men they bowed before her, threw their arms to the soil and begged for their joy to be returned so total was their reverence for the fulfillment of their baser instincts did Úcarëtári come to power. For Morgoth she wove her terribly enticing dance, and brought unto him hundreds and then thousands of men to fight alongside the orcs, trolls, and dragons born of his foul evil fire. From the depths of Utumno, and to the halls of Angband she gave her lord great measure of servants and followers. All of them taken by greed, and chasing after lust. Appetites needed fulfilling to buy their loyalty, but when their minds came onto visions of power, glory they fell into stupor and lounged in satiation. Only when striped of their need did they fight furiously and ravenously. All in attempt to regain that sense of power, and then one day to attain such great power and glory in the real realm. Thus Úcarëtári gave onto these men great greed, and ambition, and spoke sweetly in their ears of their dreams being awarded onto them, should they but bow, and serve at the mighty boots of Morgoth.

Her power was mighty, and the sound of her voice was tantalizing and soothing. Lulling men and dwarf into complacency, whilst elves fought to differentiate between her words of honey and venomous intent. The glittering of stars seemed to follow in her footsteps. Garrisons fell as she came upon them wielding nothing but her raised hand. Before her coming like great thunder crack, explosions of glittering light. Men fell to their knees and fell dead, whilst others were thrown back. Bones were broken, muscles torn, and bodies smashed under her natural power. Furious winds, and pounding rain, the skies darkening and air sapping from about them followed. Her command of the elements and power of the sorcerer followed in her wake.

Sorcery and black magic, gifted to her by her many years under her lady Varda and by her natural grace as a lesser Ainur, but an Ainur she was, all the same. Many times did she and Sauron work in cooperation to bring about horrifying experiments and projects to impress their lord Morgoth. Orcs, and foul little Goblins were taken by both and used as fodder to improve and make stronger. Many hundreds of Morgoth's legions died to serve their purposes of testing their arcane magics and sorcery, and by the end result the orcs had grown taller, stronger, but still they fell in droves, but so did they rise in double the amount. Their hatred fueled by lust, and lust fueled by wanton greed, for deep within them all light was shut out by the great shadow of the sorcerers of Morgoth, and the Dark One himself.

Much into the mysteries and past of the elves did Úcarëtári delve into. A great interest in serpents and other reptiles of the Earth did follow in her wake. Before Morgoth did she come and offer up some of her warped creations. Creatures that were once lizards and slithering serpents made into disgusting creatures to snap, bite, and gnash against the enemies. But, Morgoth tossed them aside in disgust and haughty pride. His dragons were the pinnacle of war and mockery of Ilúvatar's creations, that Morgoth found these experiments cheap imitations of his power, and imagination. It was in this embarrassment, and anger did she grow more bold, and hateful. Soon the queen of sin had come to be beneath but Gothmog, Sauron and the Balrogs and greater dragons of the mighty force of Morgoth. Her wrath and anger, frustration and will for domination clouded her mind, so once full of nothing but the glittering of stars and their natural beauty. For then her mind was filled with contempt, disgust and loathing.

Then came the 'War of Wrath,' and thus came to an end Morgoth's reign. Taken, pulled asunder and passed into the void. The Valar had come with their mighty host and broke the armies of Morgoth. The great dragons were destroyed in nearly their entirety and scattered. All Balrogs found were eliminated, Gothmog lay dead and smote, and all else that survived the great sundering of Morgoth's forces fled into the south, as the great north of the continent was ruined, the war having made it a barren wasteland bitten endlessly by the freezing cold of death. An everlasting reminder of the great death and many dead that lay within these lost lands, as all life left that sought to remain within the lands of Middle-Earth followed south to take up houses, make seats of power and forge kingdoms.

All lieutenants of the Dark One were hunted down and slain, all Maiar who came up upon Morgoth were destroyed or imprisoned forever like their master was. Save two. Sauron and Úcarëtári remained free to roam the continent, and became lost to the Valar and those who sought them out. Both would leave from their alliance, now that their master was undone, save one last meeting at the closing of the First Age.

* * *

The great cold passed over him, but it did little to affect him. His form was mighty and tall with great blackened hair flowing long and loosely whilst whipping in the great howling winds. The winter season had begun here, in these northern lands. Once more lands to the west remained, but were now undone, and beneath the seas. The might great disaster of his time was done, and over. His master taken beyond the Door of Night into the void for all time. Or, so the Valar decreed it to be.

Now standing alone in what remained of what had been an even mightier and grand land, Sauron grimly frowned. He checked the sun in the sky as the clouds of the great cold of Morgoth brought more to gray the skies and hide the land from its heat. The midday was close to ending, and he had other places to be. For the lieutenant of Angband had no time to waste. His meeting with Eönwë had not gone as...he would have liked, and now the servant of Morgoth wished nothing more than to do as he had before, hide, and hide quickly whilst the host from the west continued to search for Morgoth's greatest servants. He knew, as he stared with cold and emotionless gray eyes outwards that they were to look for him, now that he refused to face Valinor's judgments. Sauron sought to leave, and ponder his future, but he had been summoned. Here on the edges of the remainder of the world to the south and what remained of Middle-Earth he stood tall and waiting with the nipping cold doing little to affect the Maiar. His brow furrowed and eyes grow narrow as anger began to rise within him.

"She is late." He intoned lowly and in slight irritation. All around him was great winter and snow, all life seemingly having fled from the cold wrought by the War of Wrath. No life, no animals, no trees, and only the distant sight of mountains reaching toward the skies met his eyes. It was now him in a barren wasteland waiting for Úcarëtári to meet with him. It was, in his mind to be their last and he wished it over with quickly.

The wind whispered dark tidings, and whipped through his black hair. He turned around and allowed his fair features to look out forward as her figure formed before him. Úcarëtári chose often to stay in her free form. Indiscernible and all but air before the eyesight of men and other lesser creatures, save for the most powerful of elves perhaps. She came before him wearing a heavy cloak, and with her visage changed from that of her original appearance under her lady Varda.

Her hair once golden, lined with glittering silver now had become wholly gray and white. Almost deathly stricken of color, or so it seemed. Her face was ever fair and beautiful. The image of beauty and grace that Sauron expected a servant of Varda to have about them. Her eyes still glittered with what seemed like stars twinkling in the great distance. Yet their color had changed from cloudy gray and into a fiery display of power. Where a mortal would look for the blue, brown or green of the eyes, her now seemed to flame and fluctuate from a radiant golden to a fiery orange that gave it an 'unnatural' effect of a swirling flame. Why Úcarëtári took these complex forms he knew not. Sauron preferred simplicity and thus presented himself as the tall, proud, beautiful Maiar man that he knew himself to be. Nonetheless, she approached. A heavy cowl over her head as she seemed to imitate a mortal female human covering herself from the nipping frost of the cold. Sauron knew she felt no such cold. He once more knew not why she did such things and seemed to imitate the actions of Eru's children. Only that she did.

"My lord Sauron." Úcarëtári curtsied gracefully before him. Sauron bowed his head in greeting.

"Why have you summoned me here Úcarëtári. The Valar sends their host to sweep these lands and look for those such as us. The name and loyalty to our master is now our warrant for capture or worse." She nodded, and clasped one hand gracefully in the other before herself.

"I've heard that you met with Eönwë. Please enlighten me to what the herald of Manwë would have words to speak with thee my lord? Did you come forth and bow to his boot and beg for forgiveness, and thus surrender onto him all sense of what cause you have fought for in the last five hundred years of this age?" She accused in a tone that would seem to a mortal a calm and soothing one. Yet her eyes hid not her anger, and paranoia. Sauron cast a glare and crossed his arms over his own simplistic cowl as it kept hidden a simple set of armor he kept upon himself beneath.

"You accuse so openly my ladyÚcarëtári. Do not think that since our master has found himself brought low in his defeat that you may demand a meeting like this, and present yourself my better. Gothmog is dead, the dragons all but seen cleansed of this world, and the Balrogs gone. The armies of our master fade, and servants lay dead, or imprisoned. I alone stand here with you, his last free followers, and you know as well as I that you may never contend with my power Úcarëtári. I was his lieutenant, and now I am all that remains." She bowed her head and relented. A sweet smile crept onto her features.

"Then you did not indeed rejoin the ranks of those too blinded by the Valar to see the truth in Morgoth's words. This is good news indeed! I had for a moment thought summoning you here to be a mistake. An ambush of the host ready to come forth and make me low, and buy for yourself freedom of persecution of your 'crimes.'" She smiled. Sauron grumbled lowly and averted his gaze. The visions of him indeed coming before Eönwë and kneeling, asking, all but begging for forgiveness now made him feel a fool, and disgusted with himself. A great vile feeling indeed as the Maiar knew that begging and plea for forgiveness had come not from ill will, but from honest regret.

"Then why then did you come forth? If such a worry lay on your mind indeed of my betrayal?"

"It was uncertain my lord." She bowed her head once more and kept her composure of that of some queen or princess as she addressed court members. Grace and political niceties spouting forth from her maw. Sauron was no fool. She had become a conniving and cunning dark servant in service to Morgoth, and she was never to shake your hand, save for the condition that a dagger rest within the other waiting to pierce flesh and spill blood.

"As I said, I was uncertain. I needed to know if I alone stood in memory and true to our lords teachings, or if one yet remained in the world who felt as I did."

"How did we feel then Úcarëtári?" Sauron asked returning full gaze down onto her. She stepped forward

"That we are right. It was a mistake to give this world to the children. It was perfection, it was freedom, and it deserved reverence. It was his mistakes that spilt blood onto the grasslands, and hills. It were his creations that waged war, pillaged cities, and killed kin."

"Some would disagree with that tale." He threw back at her. Her lips curled into a sneer and her face turned to that of ire and wrath.

"I care not for others and their views. For I have the greatest of certainty where all others are weak in their convictions or obligations! I am right, and I know myself to be right! As do you, unless you admit to your fear and stand before me to impart your regret?" He let his lips curl into his own frown.

"Of course not." He paced to his right some, and then looked back to her as the howling winds of the lands swept about both of the dark Maiar.

"There is little time. The enemy makes their move to root out what remainder there is of Morgoth's force. Like it or not my lady Úcarëtári, we are alone, and we must not be seen together. We must, if we are to survive we must part and never unite again. There is no power that may contend with our enemy...for now."

"Then the fight has failed, and we are to remain frightened fugitives in a world we watched shaped and even aided in giving its wonder?" She seethed with a powerful air of rage in her voice as it exploded into the air like the explosive maw of a volcano. Sauron raised one hand up and motioned her to keep calm.

"There is none left with the ability to contend with the host. Let them retreat into the west and take with them what elves are drained of love and light of this world, and return to Valinor. If the struggle for dominance and the shaping of this world is to continue, then we must part. Perhaps we can, in time unite once more, but that would be from a long time from now indeed. Now is the time of hiding and regaining of strength. To find places to set up and build into power. To come into it and wage our own wars. The Dark Lord is gone." Sauron paced once more before he paused and took a moment to let the thoughts flood his mind. And then so turned toward her.

"I am now the Dark Lord. A Dark Lord of nothing, no army, no home, no lands, and no ally save one." Úcarëtári eyed him and nodded.

"Survival then is our goal, and the gaining of power to in days to come take this Middle-earth, and make it our own. To build up an orderly society of the children and make them to be perfection as the world they inhabit is." He said as incentive and spoke to her vision of the realms natural state.

"It is fitting, my lord." She spoke with a voice of honey once more. "That one with your power take up the mantle. You and I both know how obsessed, and weak our lord had become in his marring of the world, and imparting of his powers into it. I and you both understand that you stand here before me stronger than he had been when captured." She bowed in seeming humility and reverence. Sauron let his emotions go unseen. He was no fool. She had grown to hate their master, seeing him as a flawed but necessary power to face the host of Valinor and their corrupted ways. Their lord had humiliated her, and her desire to ascend her powers to those that matched his. Her beasts, and creatures were paled in comparison to a dragon indeed, but Sauron had seen the crude use in her deformed creatures that shared the blood of the serpents and lizards of the world. How one who saw the world as being naturally perfect as molded by the Valar, could take these naturally perfect creatures and mar them as she did in her dungeons and labs, Sauron knew not. Though he did understand hypocrisy and its uses when the time called for it.

"It matters little." He waved her off. "We must take our parting from one another. I shall retreat east. I will make myself scarce until the time has come for my revelation to our enemies. I expect nothing, no oath of service or fealty, and no understanding of your aid coming forth for me. Save one." He motioned his hand up. She cocked her head to the side and awaited him to speak.

"You leave here understanding that there is but room for one Dark Lord. You seek no power for yourself, and contend not, with my own bid and right to rule. If then you find yourself incapable, then let us battle, and see as to whom deserves the right, the power, and the glory for themselves in these perilous days." He offered and presented himself as one Maiar ready to do battle. His spirit flared and power ignited before her. Its might and presence making her reel and retract from her closeness to his form. Úcarëtári, backed away and her eyes flared, the fire behind them swirling and glittering stars in the far distance of those eyes flashed. She looked her fellow Maiar from bottom to top and eyed him and the great power he had always held within.

She knew she could not contend. So she bowed her head low.

"I relent to your terms, my lord Sauron. What would you have of me then?" She begged of him. He laid down his arms and returned to a state of calm and coolness.

"Retreat into the far places of the world, await my victory and then be free to wander the world under my rule. Do not contend and do not seek a kingdom or allies to wage war. This world can ill afford two of us fighting one another for power and the forces of the men, or elves at once. It is time now, Úcarëtári, once Vóriselyë, servant to both Varda and Morgoth, for you to retreat and make a simple home for yourself. Perhaps once more in your freedom from the thoughts and visions of war, you may gaze up into the stars and dance in their beauty, as you had when you had first come to Morgoth." Sauron offered, as his mind flashed with the naïve Maiar indeed dancing under the night of Middle-Earth even before the coming of the sun, and basking in the beauty of the stars. Some of which she had aided her lady in bringing to hang above the world.

Her features twisted to one of distant anger. The memories that Sauron let come to him also fell into her mind. It was a memory of foolishness, and naivety even before the Dark One. She had learned quickly that in coming before Morgoth to serve she would have to be undone in her ways, and be remade in his. Freedom and bliss beneath the twinkling stars as her feet felt the grass and songs of Valinor played within her mind were but a distant and fading memory. Now within her heart was malice, and anger. Hate and loathing. Will, and the right to dominance. Now, it was, like all other things, being stripped of herself by Sauron. One with which she could not contend with. He had always been stronger. Úcarëtári was still learning, and thus her hands curled into fists, but she bit her tongue and squashed her pride.

There was nothing left, and thus so she hid in great contempt from him an errant tear that wished to leak itself forth. It was the sign of weakness. The Dark one would be ashamed.

She let her eyes, as they cooled meet his once more. She nodded.

"I accept your terms, Sauron, lord of Middle-Earth. I then go now, and shall not impede, nor interject myself before you and your plans." She curtsied as her voice carried barely audible beneath her tone a great sadness and defeat. Sauron could hear and sense it, but he did not acknowledge it. Now was his time, and a contender for the lineage of Morgoth was at minimum and inconvenience, and at most a great tragedy that would tear apart all ambition to bring the world low, and to kneel.

"Where do you intend to retreat then too?" Sauron asked as she turned to leave him with a heavy heart. She turned back upon him and feigned a sweet and kindly smile.

"That would be telling my lord." She looked up toward the clouded skies, and saw only faintly the shine of the sun.

"I think I shall wander the Orocarni, or Red Mountains as some of the Elves and Dwarves born there by Eru know them. See the Wild Wood, and the hidden glory of that forgotten land. To Hildórien then I shall go and see the birthplace of Men. To the might East Sea, I shall point my home. Never to trouble myself with the dealings of Men, Elves, dwarves and those who oppose them." She spoke, her eyes distant and all light gone from them. Her words of wonder, and of the great mysteries those parts of Middle-earth held seeming dull and lifeless coming forth from her mouth. It was because she now understood, that her time, and her life, save for the menial will to continue existing, was at an end and would be devoid of ambition, power, and of ability to partake in the battles to come against the enemies that heralded from Valinor.

"When Middle-Earth becomes a dominion under my banner, you need not fear for your life Úcarëtári. For when that time comes, you may freely wander these lands, and take bliss in my new world, and its new order." Sauron offered, and Úcarëtári bowed her head one last time. She turned from him once more, and with a gust of wind she disappeared from his sight. Leaving him to stand in the cold of the ruined north lands of Middle-earth, and thus he turned his sight toward the south.

For there was much work in need of doing, many plans to be laid down, and a great coming of malice and war to be heralded. The time of Morgoth had passed, now was the time of Sauron.

* * *

(679 years into the Second Age, South Hildórien)

The world was passing her by. Indeed Úcarëtári had stared outward toward the south of the world and watched the seas ever clash against the shores of Hildórien. It had been nearly four-hundred years since she had last laid her eyes upon a mortal man, an elf or dwarf. Animals still grazed and passed through these lands in total freedom, and indeed the lack of anything living in this region of the world let her remember some semblance of the purity and grace of this world and its making. When the nights would come and the glittering stars weaved and laid down by her lady Varda so many years ago, she would look to them and wander what the world was having down to it in the west.

Ill whispers were along the wind, and death was surely befalling the great realms beyond. She knew Sauron was no fool, and no Maiar to be so lightly contended with. For there were now none in the world to face him that were not forced to remain in Valinor. Those who had not come to serve the Valar and were still within the great presence from before the shaping of this world would not come, they would not now come and sacrifice their symphony and music to aid against the growing darkness when they did not even come for the darkness that followed Morgoth. The world, could burn beneath Sauron, and no aid would come, for Morgoth was all they seemed to care to cease as a threat.

Or so, Úcarëtári would let herself think, and her mind wander. She could hear no song, no music had been heard in centuries of nothingness. She heard no voices, and when she would think she had she would force herself under pained heart to stay and sit here at the shore wand watch the waters waves crash and slam the shores. For she knew she was hearing but the wind, or her mad mind creating falsities for her to chase.

So she would sit, she would bring her knees up to her face and wrap her hands around her legs and steadily rock herself into a lull as the east ocean remained her constant companion. Lost to her was the world, the tidings and fairings of king, men, peasant, lord, war chief, and healer. All these things lost to her now, ad only her power remained her constant. She would constantly phase into a new form for herself. Not wishing to become stuck in a one singular form as some Maiar like the Balrogs had. Simple things like hair color, eye color, then skin tone, from greatly fair to but a shade darker and then lighter once again. For she would maintain her power, her freedom or what was left of it in her time of loneliness.

Often she would now contemplate her path and choices in life. The Great War so long passed and but a memory of her mind. She now wondered if she was fated to fall with Morgoth and wage war and turn men to lust greed and war, or if she had a choice to do so in the first place. If so then, had she made the wrong choice? Certainly she never thought as so! But, then the shroud of doubt would fall onto her thoughts. She would question killing one man, then his company, then the garrison. Unleashing orcs, and goblins, or even heralding dragon fire to waylay a city. Were these things destined by the One? Or was he looking down on her even now? Shame in his eyes, and joy taken within his heart at her low state and pathetic life. For she was now alone, now more than ever.

So lonely had she been several hundred years prior, that she had ventured one last journey to the far north along the Red Mountains, and through the Wild Wood. Ancient buildings old and beyond decay that whispered of ancient evils even before her time she found. Bones so old and brittle that a touch would set them to dust. A great and ancient memory of Utumno, and the earlier years of Morgoth's ambitions. But, in the end the cold and death of the north could offer her nothing and she felt compelled to not go west but return down south and into Hildórien she returned.

"There is nothing. Nothing for me here, and nothing for me in Valinor. No one awaiting and my name forgotten. An ancient vile whisper, and curse on the tongues of elves maybe, but all memories destroyed along with my ambition. Laid low, and nothing from the fall of he who took the greatest leap into darkness, I am broken." She spoke to herself, for there were none else to listen and hear her words.

"A relic of hate, and artifact of evil. Darkness is all, but yet it fills me with nothing. No ambition to undertake, and goal to be had. I sit alone and lost yet easily found. Bring to me an enemy who may smite me down and make me dead along the shore, so the seas may carry me into death and nothingness. Yet it will never come, for your wrath and your damnation knows no bounds!" She howled to the skies and a great crack of thunder sounded out for miles. Should a living creature be near it would scatter in terror. Had men or a man alone been there they would hear an ancient fury now kept like a weak fire only lit with errant winds of anger and loathing.

So she rose to a full stand in her fury as the sea rolled and twisted in her anger. She stepped forward and let her free feet feel the sand as it molded around her below, and soon she felt the waters splash across her legs and up to her knees. The simple clothing she wore now becoming wet and freely moving with the winds, as a terrible storm in the heavens was called before her. Her eyes a great heat and fiery once again with wild fury.

"Then so let the oceans twist in my terrible rage, and free me of my impotent wrath!" Like a charged bolt of lightning that cracked and smoldered the air, she phased into the winds and flew upwards into the storm that gathered with her terrible power. Thunder cracked and winds whirled as storm clouds were forced together and a mighty flurry of clouds rolling faster than naturally intended whirled about and sent a grave crack after crack of power and wrath. The heavens twisted, the thunder roared and dark power long since held within was once more unleashed as Úcarëtári sought to fill the air, and thus the free winds and vast openness made by the Valar with her cruelty!

The skies howled and the seas below were shipped up into a great storm as the clouds run out in fury and in her ancient wrath. Tied, defeated, and apathetic to the ways of the world now Úcarëtári had not unleashed her power and its wrath for some time now. Conserving it, and even on a deep level fearing either Sauron or those from Valinor would hear her call and power, and seek to destroy her. Only now did she throw worry to the wayside and unleash a pent up hate that made the skies crackle and crash with fury that whipped up the skies and the seas. Her spirit flew high into the air, perhaps higher than ever before and she came into the heart of a cloud as it gathered into it moisture to let fall back to the ground in rain. Darkness flooded off from her in great waves and into the sky! The sun was blocked from her and the shoreline of Middle-earth itself faded from sight as she closed her eyes, even in her pure spiritual form she wished to see nothing. Smell feel, hear, but not see. Everything fell from sight and darkness took her and she let her spirit roam the skies, in total freedom once more! The terrible storm following and growing stronger as she weaved her way through the clouds and skies.

Úcarëtári did this for so long that soon time faded from her mind. So much of it had already been wasted on nothingness and despair. Now she wanted to simply be free in the sky and let her fury explode forth!

_'Let Sauron, Eönwë, Manwë, or even Eru himself come and strike me down! For in this moment I care not! For in this moment I am truly free!_'

Her voice a terrible echoing rumble that overcame thunder and lightning whipping ocean and howling winds, as it flew outward all about the ocean that her spirit took flight to and let herself be free within. The clouds rumbled and winds howled, thunder clapped and rain began to fall to the ground as the formless, faceless, but free spirit moved through the clouds. Hidden from the sky, sun, and stars. Hidden from all things save for the terrible storm that now stretched from the shores of Hildórien and out into the east sea.

It was in this freedom that Úcarëtári finally began to laugh. A seemingly terrible and fear inspiring crackle of laughter that would bring lower men to heel and shake in fear before the terrible might of the echoing and deeply thunderous expression of dark mirth. Until at last a sense of tire came over the formless spirit and incarnation of Úcarëtári.

Her spirit now went low and receded from the clouds and electrified freedom she had undertaken for herself. After hundreds of years of nothingness, but staring outward into the nothingness. She lowered herself and let her spirit come back down toward the mighty ocean and its terrible waves now shaken up and stirred by the storm raging overhead made by the free Maiar.

Úcarëtári found land. She now tired from her expression of power lowered down and found her spirit floating to the soil beneath. As she landed, she took onto herself a humanistic form once again. Hair long and flowing white and weaved with silver, with eyes of a tranquil glittering blue, face fair and especially perfect in its glow. With a simple dress of white and glittering silver or gold weaved into its fabric, or so it would seem.

She came to land herself securely to the ground, and turned herself to face the storm she had whipped up in her unleashed bout of wrath and fury as she felt her rage subside and calm return to her for the first time in hundreds of years. The blackened clouds sounded out in great fury and thunder rocked the seas. Yet Úcarëtári found herself intrigued and even in a state of confusion.

For the storm passed off away from her toward the north. She had known herself to have driven the powerful storm made of her anger north to fall across Hildórien and then further north until it faded and died out over the lands of Middle-Earth. Only now, did she with widened eyes and confusion racking her head did she note how the storm indeed moved north as she inspected the skies about her. So she turned herself south away from the shore.

Then before her did she see a great sight. One she had never before seen. For many miles beyond her vision she found might trees all about her and beyond the sands of the shore. She had never seen such trees before in Hildórien! To her right there lay a valley beyond the shore of great golden grass that rose up and spread about the land. It went far beyond and her vision let her see to green grass beyond.

"I have never seen...this place." She uttered and turned back to the storm as it continued on slowly north. Then as contemplation and thought took hold of her mind she turned back south.

"What lay south to Hildórien but the Hither Lands? What coast can you tread onto so near to the coast of Hildórien?" She asked herself and took steps forward deeper into the shore and then up into the grassy lands where the trees towered above. She fell under the shadow of the trees and circled about herself as they had grown tall and mighty with no sign of marring and even the touch of life.

"When he marred the Earth, the lands were broken." Úcarëtári knew her lord Morgoth had done so. The world had been forever change when he had undone the world as it had been so long ago and destroyed the perfect symmetry of the Earth. The world known as Endor, had been broken and then waylaid. Her mind flushed with thoughts and she sifted through memory as she knew there was something within that spoke of memory deeply seeded and old of a place such as this. Her mind reeling from the discovery as she moved about and deeper into this untouched forest.

"South Land...Dark Land, Hyarmenor! The continent stricken forth from Endor and torn from it! My lord you tore from the lands themselves a part of what it had been and made the world...imperfect." She intoned in a gasp as the awe of being on piece of land, a whole new continent to her, that was so far as she had seen untouched by the wars of men, elves, orcs, and Ainur. It was so unnecessary, and unimportant that none had tread here at least in thousands of years. Before the First Age had even began and in the times of the lamps of the world.

She smiled and felt a swelling of joy come through her as the perfection and beauty about her made her mind and heart light with mirth! Her eyes twinkled in her mirth and let her take in the surroundings of the mighty lands. Her feet glided across the grass, a chirping of birds perhaps common about the Earth, but in this moment lovely and new to her ears sounded, and the creaking of tree limbs, and wisp of the wind through the leaves brought nothing but unguided joy.

She paused in time next to a tree. It was ancient and hadn't been touched in a great deal by the chopping materials of any children of Ilúvatar. No marring had been done upon it and in its glory it stood hundreds of feet high. Truly an ancient forest like that of the Wild Wood in Hildórien. Úcarëtári took in a mighty breath of air, and laid her forehead onto the tree and felt the pulse of life within this forest around her. All thoughts of war and trial, leaving her in this moment. Darkness and light mattered not to her as she was within the perfect chaos of life without interference by those of will, desire, and greed.

"Broken by the marring you were from Middle-Earth and the way it had been at creation. Yet untouched by the wars and by the death and greed of those on Middle-earth you are. In this way you are perfection, and you are beautiful." She intoned further as a smile never passed from her lips and the winds around the forests met her and passed a great cooling breeze over her shoulders and hair. Green, orange and yellow leaves fell about as the semblance of Fall fell across the land. Her feet came upon them and a distant memory of the endless perfection and beauty that was Valinor came to mind and memory. For here in this moment there was peace.

A rustling of the trees passed her ears, and she paid no mind. Then a snapping of twigs, and her eyes burst open. The rustle continued forth unseen and near to her, and suddenly her face fell into hatred and despair. She turned to glance over her left shoulder. Her power flooding forth from her in a low tremble as it passed through and about the trees. An ancient power that emanated from her, had so far left these lands be and now the trees and winds rumbled and shook before her terrible might as the shadow of the Sin-Queen echoed forth.

Her eyes, glittering and fiery with her wrath scanned the forest. For in the distance she had heard the skittering and would not be disturbed, nor would she allow for these pristine lands to be marred by that of life. It was hers to be in glory in and joy, never to be shared among others!

Then she caught it, a sharp and quick movement from a tree to another. Her teeth became bared and her eyes flashed with terrible power as she sent forth from herself a great energetic and electrifying pulse of power. It flew outward and creaked the trees and thrust them in the direction of her exploding power. A sharp cry sounded out and a figure was seen from behind the tree. It flew back and hit against a further tree away. Úcarëtári snarled in darkened might and exploded forward as she phased back into a formless mass. It came before the creature she let her internal fire shine outward as the formless mass roared like a mountain of fire before the creature.

It threw its arms up and screamed in terror, as it shook with that same fear and horror. Úcarëtári let her mass remain a fiery representation of her internal hate and wrath before the creature. She could now see with clearer vision that it was manly in appearance. Long hair, well groomed, and incredibly straight flowed down his back. Gray and even deathly white like her own chosen hair it was colored. It was male, and it bore a fair visage, not like her own perfection and beauty, but like that of an...she then saw its pointed ears, and knew it to be Elf-kind.

"Speak wretched Elf! For you stare now into the visage of Úcarëtári!" Her voice with an echoing boom demanded as an underlying snarl more like that of a great dragon burst forth and made her voice and speech ugly and that which would bore into one's ears. The eff lowered his arms and shakily looked to her with confusion now mingling with the fear evident along his features. She was a vision of floating and freely hanging fire in the sky that only showed through a dark mass, and heart that signified a being within the great flames of hate.

He opened his mouth and flowing forth came a language new to her ears, but within it syllables, and inflections that were familiar. She felt confusion pass her as she would hear the ancient elvish Quendi, the primordial common Eldarian tongue. Within it she could hear the makings of Quenya spit forth in very basic forms of what was now the common elven tongue of the Ñoldor elves.

"Do you speak in the tongue of Men, elf-kind?" She asked and her voice changed easily to the most recent memory of mannish speech she knew. The elf went wide eyed and nodded.

"You speak in odd inflection oh powerful one! But, yes I know that speech!" he replied as his voice shook with fear and terror. It was then that Úcarëtári took notice of the finely made bow in his right hand with an exquisite sword sheathed at his belt. A fine cloak of brown that hid him among the trees was upon his person with simple clothing covered in dirt and mud upon him.

"Had you then the intention of striking me with your arrows, little elf?! A poor choice of enemy you have made, and in your foolishness you coma upon a mighty foe!" Her fiery nature exploded outward and rumbled the woods, but the elf dropped the bow and threw his hands up in surrender, before he jumped up and kneeled to her strength and might.

"Forgive me oh powerful spirit of flame! I knew not whom I had fallen upon. My eyes deceived me, and thought you one who would seek invasion." He pleaded his case, and Úcarëtári felt the prod of curiosity spike through her mind. Her form calmed, and the fires retracted into her visage, as she took on a far more natural and fair form. It was herself in the form of a humanoid figure that was entirely light, and bright with the glittering white of a Maiar spirit. The glittering of starlight flowed around and sparkled in and out of existence about her divine form.

"Invasion you say elf? Of whom would invade your lands? For many hundreds of years, beyond time and comprehension to many your lands have been separated from the mainlands. Do you not even know of the great host of life beyond your shores? How and where life abounds in form and nature?" The elf shook his head.

"I know little of what you speak, oh fairest creature. Life beyond our shores we know of this, but we have not ventured forth into the seas. Only of men do we know of from the wilds. Barbarians who lived along the shore and gathered animals to eat from the borders of our woods. Now they are gone, many taken from their lives and laid beneath the ground." Úcarëtári cocked her head, and lowered her figure before the elf who bowed his head in awe.

"You speak of death elf. Tell me, wild men you speak of, how did they die?" He pointed his left hand further to the west.

"On the shores of our lands hosts have come. Sails and ships barring men of armor, and sword. They lay flag into the dirt and claim it theirs with little care for those who were here before. Be them of the men and of our kind they have attacked. They refuse to leave these lands, and speak in a tongue most curiously similar to yours, but different in inflection, oh fairest creature." He bowed head once more. His eyes glittered and were of a wondrous shade of blue, pure and even seeming young. Few elves, had Úcarëtári come upon that were truly young in age or nature.

"You thought me to be of Men, and an invader? Tell me, elf, why would Men in their infinite understanding of the inferiority of women have me with them in their travels to uncharted lands?"

"It is not unheard of, most fair lady." He pointed west again. "They bring women and children with them. They tear down trees, and sunder stone. Towns, and villages apart from the wood they build and lay claim whilst imparting name." Úcarëtári furrowed her brow, and let her vision travel the way the elf man pointed.

"You say then that men have landed on the shores of these lands and have begun colonies?" The elf bowed.

"Yes mistress of light, they come with sword, spear, bow, and shields. We had come before them in wonder and awe. For many cycles of the great light did we think ourselves alone besides the men of these lands. Understanding between us took many cycles, and in those long days, did we finally come to understand and make peace with one another. Then the Men of great armor, ships and sails come. They laid claim. We presented ourselves with awe and sought to understand and treat with them, but then we refused to recognize their claims of territory for their distant lords and Kings. We did not understand they would then let their swords be bloodied with our kin. They call us unknown to them, a title unknown to us they have given, Moriquendi."

Úcarëtári felt her eyes slightly widen. She knew the word well, but had always thought it perhaps a falsity. For she had never seen to one before, or at least heard of one.

"Elves of Darkness they name you then? Those of the elf-kind who were born into the world but never took to the Great Journey west and beheld the two Trees of Valinor? Have your people in stories or tales of others of your kind leaving?" He nodded once.

"A tale of the lost kin exists amongst our eldest. They speak of an ancient time when they were awoken to a world of eternal night and beheld others like them that heard a call and left into the west. My people did not follow, for we did not hear the call as they spoke of. Nor did we believe their call to be a truth. They never returned and we went out in search for them. We know not how, but we came to these lands, and we were lost to what we had known of the world. We made our home, and Kingdom here. Never again to see our kin. Only when the great light broke into the world did we know our kin had perhaps found the source of their call." He weaved his tale for Úcarëtári. She smiled to him and let her hand fall onto his face and smiled sweetly down to him.

"Then indeed the men have discovered a great treasure indeed! For within you they have found your people to be Moriquendi. Your kin indeed survived, and made the journey across the sea to the coast of Valinor. A land beyond here to the greater west. They have since returned to the lands where your kin and you were birthed as well as the men of the world. Middle-Earth. It was where I arrived from my dear Moriquendi." She soothed and let her power flow from her hand into the elf. He visibly relaxed, but remained etched into his face was still the hint of terror.

"Your kin returned to the birth lands, and they made war. They have killed a great many men, and other creatures. They have even killed their fellow elf-kind." The elf looked confused and shocked. The horror of such an action evident on his features.

"Worry not my dear elf. They do not know of your existence. You are but a fable for them, and lost is your kind to them. For if they did know of your existence, they, I fear, would have seen to your utter destruction, and spilling of your blood onto the grasslands of your home. Much more vehemently than even these Men who assault your lands." She lied so sweetly and naturally. The darkness within her heart so easily coming forth and already sending a shock of horror into the little elf's mind. His eyes furrowed and then grew sad.

"You did not take the journey. Thus you are dirty in their eyes, beneath them. As are men, and the other creatures of life in the world. Elves are notorious indeed for their hate of all things less than they, and even those of greater power than them, they see as weaker or undeserving of their presence and power. Their arrogance and pride knows no bounds. Come, and tell me elf, are your kind as arrogant and hateful as they?" he shook his head, his white hair flowing about his shoulders.

"No my lady. We are peaceful. We hold great disdain for violence and pain. When our kin fell before the swords of the Men there was a great weeping and song of lament. It carried for hours, maybe days as we were lost in our grief. For days now we've only just begun to use the weapons of the barbarian men to aid us in our defense. This one I have was personally made. We felt the simplistic nature of the original weapons to be ineffective, so we made finer ones. So far we have only used them in defense of the wood border. The Men have set up a colony along the shore, and have not left in some time. Indeed they have not left since arriving."

Úcarëtári smiled broadly and kindly before him and beckoned him to rise to a stand. The kernel of deception, and a thought of great treachery formed within her mind. The days under the Dark One and her new natural inclinations came forth with smooth ease. She gracefully crouched and snatched up the bow, and let her fingers lace and slide about the wood to the limbs, and then to the string. She smiles and hands the weapon back to the elf who grabbed it and graciously placed it over onto his back.

"Show me then, my little elf friend, show me to your people, and your Kingdom." He looked unsure and even afraid. Úcarëtári smiled sweetly and her form began to turn again. Her eyes took on the pure gray glittering of starlight she had so long ago. Her hair that fell down her back so smoothly and pure in golden yellow with stripes of fiery red falling in segments. Her face took her fair visage and glowed lowly but with a purity that not even an elf could hope to bare.

"You need not fear me elf-kind. You may show your fear before me because of how we met of course. You must understand I had thought you intended to kill me. But I have come here now before you, and have taken a form I hope to calm and give you a sense of kinship." She laid both hands on either side of the elf's face. She let her features become the vision of kindness and soothing calm as she flooded her power through her hands and into the elf, as she let a form of control over his emotions enter him. As she had given men of old visions of lust fulfillment, be it hordes of gold, tables of endless food, or the company of a great many beautiful women to fulfill their every desire, she let the simple sense of calmness enter the elf. She would not bother trying to give the elf such greedy visions of grandeur to take pleasure in. Any elf had no such ability to be corrupted by. So she simply let him feel her calm. And, so he relaxed some more, and a kind of assured calm smile overcame his face.

"I have come to save you and your people. I must have been sent before you for a reason. Little elf." She soothed almost as a mother would a child and he smiled, before bowing his head and checking the woods around them.

"Come then milady. The men may be near. I would not desire for them to be near your fair form. As mighty as you may be." he sweetly spoke, and Úcarëtári nodded and followed after as they went further south away from the shore, and further more from Middle-Earth beyond the ocean.

* * *

As she came upon the forest guarded kingdom deep within the woods Úcarëtári took in the great sights before her. A great many elves all with hair of white and eyes of varying blue, green, and gray watched her enter. Her presence was powerful and was sent out for all to feel. She bowed her head from side to side and met them all. They all looked to her in varying degrees of interest and shock. Her visage was odd and awe inspiring for them all. There were a great many elven children about the region, and Úcarëtári found such a sight interesting to take in. Elf children were not a supreme rarity but knowing that all elves were naturally immortal, and to see so many young of them was simply odd, as most elves that walked about to be young were maybe a few decades or a hundred or so years old. To see little children was simply odd.

The houses of these elves were set about the trees hung high and some even within the trees of the great wood. There were buildings built between, upon, and within trees. The elves that seemed as guardsmen wore simple black cloaks with light green armor lined and ribbed with green. They held in their hands spears that seemed simplistic in nature, and lacked the artistic beauty of most weapons of elves like those of the Ñoldor.

Many elves circled in around herself and the elf man who she had come to learn was named Amshën. Until he came before two guards who greeted him stiffly. Amshën had words with them, but the guards seemed to grow annoyed with him, and ordered him away, at least by the gesture of the speaking one thrusting his spear away from what looked to be a grand tree at the heart of their little forest kingdom that held an opening to its heart. Which she assumed to be the lair of their petty leader. A King undoubtedly.

Amshën threw his hands out in exasperation as the guard nudged him away with a head gesture. Úcarëtári stepped before him and the guard and he grew restless at her nearing to him.

"You know not with whom you trifle with elfling." She coolly informed in the face of the guard who looked to her worriedly and began to shout toward Amshën in their Quendi tongue.

"Address me!" She shouted as her voice became a deep and terrifying baritone and sent all elves nearby into a recoil and reel away from her. Yet never did her grin leave her face. "I am come before you. You can speak in this tongue of men. You may present me thus before your lord. I will have words with him. Save me from your idle words or threats and leave Amshën be. For he above you has sense to not question my commandments." She sweetly intoned as her eyes glittering all the same flared with fire. The guard swallowed before her, and shakily but slowly he moved away from her, the silent guard beside him also moved, but more jumped away. These elves had never been in the presence of a Maiar, and now as the first came before them they found themselves incredibly afraid.

She thanked the guard and had Amshën follow after. The hall within the tree was simple but lovely. Bark finely cut on either side brought a woody and earthy smell into the hall. Glinting holes had been carved along the walls and let the barest of light into the tree that gave it a hue of light that seemed dim but like that of twilight. Globes of crystals lit the room for the most part. It astounded Úcarëtári that they held such magic within them and the knowledge to craft and make use of such things.

Nonetheless she strode forward with grass still beneath her feet. Along the way toward where a simple seat carved from a stump and lined with leafs and freely sprouting branches there was a line of simple guards who seemed very untrained and ill equipped. They all stared with trembling terror as she entered and let her glow burst forth from her figure a little stronger than before and produce a ray of power about her form. She neared to where this little petty king of their sat upon his throne, and took note of him as Amshën followed her almost worriedly.

The King sat forward and his eyes went narrow as he saw her entrance. His eyes were gray and deeply so. White hair fell down his back, and he wore simple silk seeming robes that fell loftily about his slender form. He seemed young to her, and so he should, for she was far older, and far more terrifying than anything here in all the wood or from the shore. She was a goddess among ants.

"Utter forth your name stranger from afar! For I know not whom you are or your dark intention, but enough enemies and death has my kingdom seen of late." He 'greeted' Úcarëtári with a voice that was silky and smooth that held and air of superiority about him. A pomp and presence that she found droll.

"Dark intention? Fair king I know not even your name, let alone do you know mine. Yet, still you jump to the conclusion of ill tidings and will? I am pleased you have chosen to speak in a tongue of understanding, but it is little when all that is beard for my ears to hear are vile accusations of my will or tidings." She greeted back and let her glow spark with a greater light than before.

"I learned the tongue of the these men from those who came to our shores. They sought to force us to kneel before them as they take land, pillage and burn wood, and kill grazing stock. You speak their tongue with oddity, but clearly, you carry yourself gracefully but with a sense of authority as they do. You," he rose to stand from his simple throne. "look a man but seem to be more. So I plead with you to explain why I should think you a friend and not a foe, as every other from beyond our sight and beyond our knowledge has proven. Amshën, the young one, his words were heard to me from outside my hall. He speaks of your terrible power, and of your offer of aid, but every good deed I think draws its own fair share of blood. Especially from those who hold no obligation to aid. Why then should I accept your offer of aid." Úcarëtári curtsied as she came before the throne and smiled sweetly.

"Those who do not accept aid when they clearly are in need of it are perhaps indeed too foolish. For I see around you but men of your little kingdom who have not seen a drop of blood be it their own or another. I see simpletons given spear and sword. I see children wielding weapons as aged elves. You have not slain one man, or am I wrong to think as such?" She questioned. The elf king, looked to a guard and then back to her. She smiled and cocked her head to the side. He seemed to be looking for anyone to aid him in answering.

"Death is not something to be done so easily and undertaken so lightly."

"And yet I have heard only of your kin and the wild men of these lands who gave you no qualms being killed. These men who land at your shores, I believe I I know of the houses they descend from. I think I know what they plan to do, and I am of the lands to the great north of your continent. For beyond you lay lands far older and richer in history and action. War and death are quite common, and you come to learn very soon, is that death and war is the natural state of life. Especially for those like yourself whom are weak and easily picked off by those who seek to colonize that which you claim to be yours but will not die to protect. How very sad indeed." Úcarëtári she shot back. The guards of the hall looked to their king. They too looked for an answer. These invaders, these men had struck awe and terror into them all, and they knew not how to fight.

"I on the other hand have contended with legions of men, led great armies against them, and have seen elves of far greater strength and wisdom than you, fair king, die and kill in great numbers beyond reckoning. I have seen mountains undone, beasts fly, oceans twist and skies burn. I have lived and breathed war for many years, and I only come to your shores by accident. Not because I knew of your existence and sought to make your lands my own, or those of the men. Instead I feel it was fated that I come before you. So that one such as I who wields power beyond your reckoning would make undone the host of men. I shall lead your people out from their stupor of loss and pain of death and be rid of these men." She offered in another sweet and respectful curtsey.

The King stared her way his eyes dancing over her terrifying form. She looked the vision of beauty and grace, but the power that came off her form was that f a terrible power he could feel was ancient and it was vile as it was wrathful. Yet what could he do? His father had since passed the kingdom to him. For when the men had come to the shore and his father greeted them in kindness and greeting, but as they made clear their dark intention to take onto themselves all right to land and power his father made clear that his people would not submit to the dictations of those men. So they slew him, they cut down his court that had followed in a gesture of peace, and humility. They had even killed his mother. Their bodies now lost to them, their souls gone, and a part of his heart cut from him from afar.

So the king sat back into his throne, and he rubbed his hand across his brow. He sighed deeply and then looked back to the source of the answer to all his woes and troubles. She smiled sweetly and she seemed a beacon of light that carried a hidden shadow behind it.

"I would know they name, oh powerful one." She smiled wider.

"I am Úcarëtári, and I am your salvation oh lord of the wood. What be thy name?" he nodded. He knew not what the name meant, for had he, he may not have done as he had. And formed the foundation for the doom of his kingdom, and of the way of his people for all time.

"I am Qúndol, king of these lands. And, I am humbled by your presence. I fear only for the future of my people, and meant no offense be made against thee. Oh mighty spirit." She stepped forward and broadly grinned as her glow grew greater and hot.

"So then you concede to my aid, oh fair King Qúndol?" he looked to his guards and those young elves who stood to the far sides of the hall. They were replacements for their court progenitors, and they silently looked to him with fearful eyes, but for the first time since the coming of the men to their fair shore, he saw what told him what his answer must be. He saw hope.

"I concede to your offer, oh fair Úcarëtári. I implore you to aid us in our hour of need. I beg thee to teach us the ways and art of war."

She let forth her glow and it burned brightly and with a fire she had almost forgotten from her days under the Dark One. As she beamed forth a beautiful smile that would bring any man of lesser will to their knees alone.

"Then let us begin. My fair king."

Thus would be the downfall of the Moriquendi of the forgotten lines of elves, and the fall of the South Land to she who was the Sin-Queen. For there would be fables told in the lands of the mighty Kingdom of Númenor, of the loss of a great expedition fleet. They knew not to where they had sailed, only that they were lost, and never to return.

Those men who had landed on the great continent but a day from sending word back to Númenor, would in the night hear a rustling in the great wood from where the barbarians and Moriquendi had come from. Then like a shadow of old, a light blinded them and fire seemed to burn in the sky A terrible wind that smelled of ruin and burning flesh swept across their camp and colony. Fell arrows flew through their newborn city. The elves wearing armor black as night and made of steel seeming of an ancient malice their fathers and grandfathers had told stories of came upon them. They seemed changed form the fair and frightful little elves they'd met with before. Their skin had become gray, and the fairness was seeming to leave their bodies. Their eyes grew red with pulsating wrath and hatred. Their hair was now deathly white, and conflicted with their darkened flesh.

A terrible pure light emanated out from the trees. It glowed pure and white and it was beautiful. It was the image of a woman, wearing pure white with gold lined in her silken robes. She held what seemed to be a great shadow of stars behind her and following in her wake as terrible hordes of the Moriquendi were then followed by the most ghastly of sights. Twisted gnarling creatures. They knew not what they were, only that they were hunched over, smaller than dwarves even, but they held snouts of monsters, and claws like daggers.

They came with the elves and the woman of beautiful pure light into the colony. They fell upon women and cleaved them and let their blood spill in great quantity. Their children were gathered up before the mighty sorceress and they were set to a flame. Their screams echoing and erupting forth from their fathers and mothers wails that could never be echoed or repeated in the unbridled pain and horror they bore witness to. For never again would such a wail befall these lands as those of the 'Burning of the Innocent.'

The women who were not cleaved were driven into the sea and the woman of terrible black power set fire to the ships. They burned as kindling for the snarling beasts to jeer and cheer in glory and victory. With the Moriquendi made to watch in silent awe as war and death was brought to them for them to take in, and learn.

The men were cut down in droves and set aflame in kind. Until all that was and all that would have been of the colony of these wicked men that were born of Númenor, was annihilated. Never to be remembered, never to be seen, and soon to be forgotten.

Yet for all her evil, and terrible might the sorceress spared a group of the children of Men. And when they came of age, they would be made to bear and produce more offspring. For the Sin-Queen, or Úcarëtári the Magnificent, as the Moriquendi would know her. Would come to order the construction of a mighty temple atop the ruin of the smote Men. A temple of prayer and reverence to the one true god of all. He who brought war, and the salvation of the Moriquendi. Melkor. It was for this temple the children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and further on, would be kept to produce and reproduce. For Melkor was a kind and loving god, that would bring onto thee power eternal and might. All he would need was the sacrifice of the wicked Men of the Earth. Úcarëtári thus gave onto the Moriquendi, these children so that they would pay for the sins of their forefathers.

In time the line of King Qúndol would end. His son ruled for many hundreds of years after he fell ill with a might dark sickness that went unknown to heal. The son, Màndrol would rise to power and be crowned not by his dead father, but by Úcarëtári. Known as Màndrol the Black, for under him the elves of the wood would cease being the elves of the wood, and would become Moriquendi in name and visage. Their skins turned a gray and would range from light gray and with some it would turn ebony black, but they retained their pristine looks of the elves of old, but far more within them lay the trappings and makings of what Morgoth had done to their kin so long ago. It was the terrible consuming corruption. Màndrol the Black would see his skin become that of light gray and under him thus did his people see loss of fairness, and descent to what Úcarëtári called beautiful darkness. Under Màndrol, the Kingdom took up what they felt to be their dark heritage and thus christened themselves the Kingdom of Moriquendi.

Màndrol would let Úcarëtári the Magnificent conduct all manner of unseen and unheard magic in the bowls of her temple. Where she took many Moriquendi to teach them the dark and arcane magics of Melkor. There in the pits would be born a race of creatures that were perfected from the rabble first used to attack and mutilate the Men who had attacked their shore.

Úcarëtári would laugh, for Morgoth and Sauron had thought her foolish and thought her weak, but she needed time, and knowledge. Much she had learned both from the lady Varda, Morgoth and the great music that shaped the world in the time before time. She would give birth, but not through toil and nature as the children of Ilúvatar, but through sorcery and hate. Through malice and vengeance. Before Màndrol the Black would pass from the world as he boarded one of the first ships constructed for the Kingdom in a might storm that came seemingly from nothing, he would bear witness to Úcarëtári new creatures, whom were ordained her children, and thus grant to her the title of, 'Mother of all Serpents.' The Lócënossë were born, and the Kingdom made to be without a King.

Until then Úcarëtári herself was granted thus by the people of the Kingdom dominion over them all. 'Queen Úcarëtári the Magnificent, Savior of the Kingdom and People of Moriquendi, and Mother of all Serpents.'

The whole of the continent became her domain, and the Kingdom of Moriquendi grew to inhabitant almost the whole of it as well. The South Land became rechristened the continent of Mórenorë. The Dark Land.

And so the Ages would pass. The shadow of the Dark Lord Sauron plagued the lands of Middle-Earth, and many wars would he bring onto these people. So too would he corrupt and twist the lands and people of Númenor. Until Eru Ilúvatar, the One himself, would sink the island beneath the ocean after their mad king under the guidance of the Dark Lord made war and landed a mighty host of men on Valinor itself. Stripped of his fair visage for all time, Sauron would return to Middle-Earth and make war once again. And, with the Ring of Power upon his finger. Until it was taken from him and by prince Isildur.

The One Ring would be lost after the death of the prince in an Orc raid. It would not be found for some time, and then it would go from one hand to another of the races of Hobbit. And it is here, when Frodo Baggins of the Shire, undertakes a journey to the elven city of Imladris and the behest of the wizard Gandalf that the story begins. The story of the return of the Sin-Queen into the lands of Middle-Earth.

For it is the story of one Moriquendi's journey to Middle-earth aboard a single vessel stolen from the harbor of the Kingdom. For she alone now made for Middle-earth, to warn them of the impending coming of the Sin-Queen. And the darkness she would have wrought upon all of Middle-Earth.

This is the tale of the coming of the second Dark Maiar of Morgoth. All the while the dark Lord of Mordor, and self anointed King of all Men, Sauron makes war upon Middle-Earth, as the darkness spread and grows from Isengard, and the coming of the treason of Saruman the White.

This is the beginning of Morgoth's Heirs.

* * *

**Authors Note IMPORTANT: **Greetings folks. SO this is my first and admittedly ambitious story in the Lord of the Rings fanfiction area. I have a crossover but I don't think that counts much as I am more free in that one due to its nature. In this story we will indeed be following the movies as it has been a long time since I read the books, and to be honest i know most readers of LOTR FF are here because of the movies and want more stories in line with the movies. It took me quite a while to gather these names, and try to stitch together a feasible story of another dark entity that knew Sauron from the days of service to Morgoth. I hope you all think she's AT THE LEAST interesting. Otherwise I better quit now while I'm ahead. Xp

The meant of the story will begin in the next chapter, which due to college and real life may take me a while to post but I promise I WILL post and finish this story if enough people show interest. The Moriquendi, dark Land, IE the new continent and most everything except for Úcarëtári herself, and her thus far hidden creatures the Lócënossë ;), are all things Tolkien mentioned, so I'm merely trying to expand and of course add my own whacky ideas. Before anyone says anything I AM NOT NOR WILL I EVER BE nearly as good as Tolkien. Trust me enough people have made me know as much. I just want to write my ideas and share them with the world. If its bad oh well I suck, if it's not then I'm happy. :p

Also, the Moriquendi in their new warped visage under Úcarëtári are simply best described as looking as literal dark elves or even like Drow from like Dungeons and Dragons. Basically for anyone confused the reason their skin has changed but not their beauty is because Úcarëtári has basically corrupted them into being NEAR-Orcs without taking from them what makes them elves, where Morgoth twisted and reshaped elves into the nasty orcs we've all come to know and...'love.' If ANY of this story is confusing to you I apologize as I tried to add a bunch of things from the Silmarillion and other Tolkien sources (thanks LOTR wiki), and I just hope you guys enjoy what I hope to be a fun ride. :)

Also, please point out or excuse any and all grammatical errors. I write late at night when inspiration hits me, and I have a splash of dyslexia that makes me sometimes get things all messed up and spellcheck can only help so much. :p Thanks in advance and PLEASE review. :D

**PS:** Tolkien is the best and so is Middle-Earth. ;)


	2. The Dark Elf

**Chapter ****Two****: ****The ****Dark-Elf**

"Never have I seen a ship of that make. Not least in these waters." The captain boasted as he looked through his spyglass, but quickly snapped it away from his eye and shortened before clipping back onto his belt.

"I certainly have never seen one like it." His first mate declared in agreement. The captain huffed, and sighed as the two stayed themselves planted firmly against the port-side of the creaky wooden but capable blackened ship. Its great black sails blew furiously but powerfully in the air as the great winds of the seas blew. They both wore a haphazard and seemingly random mash of black clothing and equally black armor in random spots along their chests, down to their leggings and boots. Their hair was all a mess aboard the ship, and frankly one would consider them filthy.

Though of course, the men of Umbar were quite used to this. Beyond them and before them lay a seemingly barren ship. Its sails were torn but gave enough push so that the ship did not meander and sail without movement atop the mighty ocean. It was blackened much like their own vessels, but this one was strange and different. It bore metal strategically placed along the whole outer-rim of the hull. Many ballista's lined either side of the ship. Four on each side, for the ship was quite large. Heavy metal framing was to its front that seemed fit for ramming capabilities, and it bore a nest and what appeared to be a reasonably large quarters entryway. Yet, no life, no movement had been seen.

"Never seen a flag like that either. Not from here, not from Gondor," the captain spat on reflex. "Not even from Mordor! Bless me if they ever find a way to get ships out to sea though!" He chortled and his first mate joined him as the rest of the crew mumbled to one another of the ill omen of a 'ghost,' ship being found as they went about their tasks.

The flag he spoke of, as he examined it, bore a greatness and even majesty about it. Longer than most flags but flowing graciously and even foreboding in the winds. It was red. Red, but brighter than the dark crimson of blood being spilt. It bore two black lines. One going down from the top vertically and one sweeping across the whole of the flag horizontally. The horizontal line was shaped like a long dagger or sword with its tip visible at the end of the flag where it waved most into the wind. To the upper corner of the flag, what seemed to be in the upper-left to the men was a strange symbol.

It was not a snake like the men of Harad or Rhûn bore on their banners, or the Great Eye of the Dark One. Rather it was a set of dragon like wings. No dragon, and no beast showed itself to be, but rather a thin line of red from the main body of the flag split the wings from one another. But they were crooked, and curved, but o less powerful seeming.

It was something...indeed.

"Right. Well there's no getting passed it boys. Set sail and bring her about! We're boarding her!" The captain declared with a firm, although slightly slurred tone about him. None could say it was more slurred than normal. The men, save for the first mate, mumbled and began readying the ship to turn and meet the new strange ship. None showed any real vigor, and none showed any real desire.

"But captain!" One man cried. Both he and the first mate turned toward the man as five others stood around him. All staring toward their captain almost pleadingly.

"What is it?"

"It's not natural! A ship just sailing through the sea with not a one sign of crew aboard her! It be an ill omen!" The man was heavily accented, and the captain sneered, and wondered just where they found the laggard. Nonetheless, the other men mumbled loudly, some calling out; "yeah," or, "that's right," and giving their agreement and backing to the mutinous worm of a ship-mate!

"BAH! I won't hear anything of omens and nonsense! I've been sailing these sea's since I was a lad younger than most of you here. Haven't yet crossed a ship I couldn't take, or board. With or without 'permission.'" The captain excitedly and self-indulgently cried.

"There haven't been any omens, or 'powers,' on these sea's since the First Age boys. I doubt Morgoth will make his next coming here before us few today. I doubt that he nor the Dark lord have the time to waste on one ship. Especially since we have sworn allegiance to the only one true power in these lands!" Some of the other men clamorously cheered. The few who still showed fear now looked uncomfortable. The captain laughed.

"Ya' needn't worry about black magic boys. We have the Great Eye on our side today! Whatever be aboard that ship is just sitting there rotting and wasting away when we, the servants to the Great Eye, sit back and watch it drift. What we take, we take not just for ourselves, but in the name of Sauron." The crowd of cronies all nodded and mumbled their cheers, and jeers toward the cowardly batch amongst them.

"Raise the sails men! And, let everyone aboard that ship, if there be any at all, that they've crossed into the realm of Umbar! Into our seas! The seas of Sauron!" The men cheered, and the dissenting cowards silently shuffled their way from the crowd and chortling captain, and went to their posts. As the great sail of the ship was raised, and the jagged and foreboding blackened flag was raised that bore the deeply red semblance of the all seeing eye of Sauron.

So the ship turned and made its way across the calmed oceans and easy breeze toward the 'ghost' ship. It remained steady and seemingly unmoving even as I indeed drifted ever so slowly away toward the north. As the corsair ship neared the captain moved himself strategically to the side of his vessel near to the boarding extension of his ship. Ten of his men were scrambling about. Placing swords and daggers into their belts and mounting the ballista on the port side of the ship.

"If anyone be aboard that ship, speak now!" The first-mate called as the ship came about and came to circle the unknown vessel some. Nothing came in reply. No voice and no movement. The captain shared a glance with the first-mate. A low nod from the captain, and the first-mate motioned his hand up and the men drew daggers and swords, quickly after sheeting them already, and they all began hollering and chortling and flexing. As was part of their duty so it seemed as the mockery for seafarers they were.

"Well, whether someone be aboard or not, we're boarding!" The captain chortled. "I suggest you be surrendering if anyone be aboard, or we'll be happy to make you surrender with our blades!" Still nothing came in reply. The sounds of the water, gulls calling in the distance, and the racket of the men that simmered down was all that met the captains waiting ears.

"Bah! Board the ship men! Search it from top to bottom. If anyone be found, try not to kill em' right away." He laughed and the men cheered. It had been far too long for some since they had last boarded a ship!

Ropes were thrown with metal like prods at the ends that snagged into the wood of the ship, and were tied to the corsair vessel. A plank of wood was thrown over the side of the corsair ship and fell onto a rail of the other ship. The men gingerly but no less excitedly ran across the plank and boarded onto the blackened, but clean and powerful ship. Their boots stomping along wood, and posturing like rabid fools no less loud and obnoxious.

They fell onto the ship like rats escaping a fire. They came onto it one by one, and those who arrived aboard her first ran into the doors of the cabin, and opened their way into the bowels of the lower deck of the ship. They scurried like insects looking and plundering. Throwing tables and barrels. They tossed about looking for anything, or anyone to take capture of. The captain came aboard. A hand clasped to his chest in what seemed to be a mockery of a regal pose, and he looked about the deck as his men slowed and looked around confusedly.

"There be none aboard, captain!"

"Aye, and no food or drink." Another man added as he climbed up the steps from the entryway to the lower deck. The captain nodded and hummed in thought as he looked about the ship lined with metal, and colored in a black coat that seemed to have been that of burnt wood, and almost unnatural to even he a corsair of Umbar! His eyes scanned up the lookout but he saw nothing amongst the sails that loftily blew in the wind. He simply nodded then.

"Well then. What we have here boys is a prize! One I'm sure the others will be sure to take awe in. What we have here looks to be an abandoned battleship, and ours for the taking! No blood spilt and no time wasted. A good day that is men!" The men cheered though they had done little more than storm a 'ghost' ship.

The captain turned and idly began walking back toward the plank very slowly as he took in the sights of the ship and her odd banners some more.

"Alright boys, what we'll do is-" He was cut as a whirl in the air caught his ear and the others.

"Argh!" He swung around as the sound ceased and one of his men fell onto the floor of the deck. A black arrow sticking out the top of his head. The men all looked but then threw themselves back and scattered. They looked about the ship with swords and battle axes raised trying to find the source of the arrow. The captain ducked and hid behind two of his men.

"Oi! Whoever shot that, be a man and come out and fight! Coward!" He called. Even as his men filled with fright continued to jostle where they stood. All eyes pointed in all manner of direction, but still they saw nothing.

The sound came again. It splintered and shrieked through the air, and with a crack another arrow slammed into one of his men. Directly in his heart. The force of the blow sending him back with a gasp of air escaping his lungs.

"Where are you?!" The captain yelled as his men all grumbled and grunted, some making feeble calls and challenges of their own. The whirl came again, and two arrows slammed into his guards. One each. The captains eyes grew wide as serving platters as he fumbled back and fell onto his bloated backside.

Then right before his eyes the wood creaked and thudded. Two blackened boots slammed down onto the wood, and the person whom those boots belonged to squatted before him. A torn black cloak followed in their wake and fell around them. Their eyes were piercing and the captain gasped as they seemed to pierce into his very soul. His men jumped back and gasped or grunted from being hit by their scared comrades at arms.

The creature held in its hand a finely crafted bow. Long and seeming to be carved by the finest hands but jagged shaped like that of the Orcs of Mordor. It rose to its full stature, what the captain guessed in his haze to be just under six feet tall. Its eyes were amazingly red, they were the color of spilt blood, and bore down on him and were narrowed in what seemed to be of wrath and rage. Coming down its back was a long single braid of glistening and glinting white hair that shone in the light of the day. But, most amazing of that was its ashen black skin. Not like an Orc or Uruk's deathly tone, but something that seemed nearly gray and lifeless but oddly alluring.

Add to that, the attire of this creature was all black but cloth made and not armor, but simple and covering. As well as the fact the captain could see clearly it was a woman, and he was confounded. No, he was awed.

"It's clear now who the coward is, captain." The voice of the creature was smooth, but held an air of both authority and age about it that betrayed the young and agile features her face showed. The captain made to answer, but the war-cry of one of his men howled outward as he stormed toward her.

She spun right and in a flash of speed a dagger had been swept into her right hand as she brought it across his neck and her body twirled aside letting him fall forward. She immediately flung her right arm back out right and struck an awe struck corsair in his temple clear into his head and pierced bone. He went limp and she pulled the dagger out harshly and spun left and cut down another man who cried out as the dagger swept along his left breast down his gut.

She threw herself back right and threw the dagger into another man who was flung back, as the other men sprung to life and charged her, and the captain stumbled to a stand.

"Kill her! No...wait, capture her!" He cried as they charged with swords and axes raised high over their heads. She smirked, threw her bow into her right hand and threw a powerful and elegant kick into the gut of a charging man as left hand graciously swept up an arrow from a satchel situated at her back. With a quick motion it came to her bow and she shot it forth. It pierced clear thru that kicked man's face out the back of his head into a second's forehead and threw him back dead.

She sent a powerful slap then with her left hand clear around herself and with unknown force swung a man charging her rear flying against the side of the ship with a grunt of pain, as she swept another arrow forth into hand and slashed the expertly cut metal tip across the chest of another wild charger before bringing it to bow and firing it into a third.

Nonetheless, the captain could see she was surrounded. No matter how many men she brought down and he would lose, he knew she would soon be overcome by them. So what if he lost them all! He wanted this creature caught!

She spun and her cloak whipped about her as she did. Her right booted foot jumped onto the wooden railing of the ship and then came her left as she jumped full onto the railing, and with grace and finesse about her stride she sprung right and along the railing away from the men. They threw themselves against the rail trying to grab her but she easily sidestepped and even jumped over their attempts back onto the railing with ease.

She jumped off it back onto the deck and sprung forth two more arrows and brought them to her bow string. With ease, whilst sidestepping to her left she fired. They both struck a man each in the chest and both fell over dead. The rest of the crew, now among dead comrades numbered still fifteen. They drew and readied to charge her. She flicked her vision across them and the captain where the crimson eyes lingered. She smiled, almost seeming to beckon him, and order him to watch. She swung her bow over shoulder onto her back in some slot that remained unseen, as both hands swung over opposite shoulders and drew finely made, crafted, and etched metal swords that sung once take from their sheaths.

They yet shone of pearly gleaming metal and had carved into them odd designs seeming almost of runs across the blades. Their handles were slightly curved and barbed to allow for easy and efficient finger placement for wielding the blades. They were shorter than an average sword, but longer than knives. She swung both in her hands, and fell into a low defensive posture. One sword angled down and one overhead ready to strike. She seemed to be a feral creature ready to pounce, and she bore an endless smirk on her face as she waited for the men to come to her. Who had since taken pause at her.

They gawked and looked to the captain for orders. He turned to them and then back to her. He stuttered and threw his arm pointedly at her.

"Get her you idiots, come on! It's on damn woman!" He cried, and they sprung back into their charge toward her moving atop the wood of the ship and around their fallen dead friends. She waited for them as they came. The first wielded a pickax like tool and threw it over hie right shoulder down. She swept her left low arm across and slashed his legs. He fell over in a cry of pain and she swung her right sword down into him before spinning herself around and thrashing both arms upwards. Both swords cleaved up along another sword bearing man, and she continued to slash until she came full circle, and stabbed yet another through the chest and stomach.

Her left sword slashed down left cleaving into one leg and she yanked her right sword forth and slashed overhead down into the shoulder of another, before sliding it through him and pulling out and letting both fall over in agony. She ducked low, and swept both swords from her right up in a full swing and cleaved another man across his legs and groin upwards. She slashed both in unison left and carved another down and swept her right arm right slamming against the face of one man and then hacking down in a twirl, with her left arm cutting him down. Eight men fell, of the fifteen. The last seven froze again and stared at her while holding their weapons at the ready to slash at her. Their legs jumped back from her as she looked between them with mixed levels of blood upon her clothing and dripping freely down her blades.

With a sigh she lowered her blades to her sides. Her smile waned and her expression became hard again. Her eyes narrowed in on the last seven, and with a huff of air exhaling from her she threw herself forward. Both swards at her sides she threw herself up with remarkable grace and speed matched by power. She swung down and slashed one man down. She spun right and finally a man caught her blades by throwing his axe forward against her. She carried one blade across and thrust it forward and under his arm into his gut and deep into his flesh. He gargled and fell back dead. She slashed left and another man jumped back and fell onto his back with a grunt.

Swinging around with both blades swinging over and around her back she cleaved across another man across his face down his neck and over his breast. She threw herself back as another man swung down against her face. She threw her right arm out and connected a hard slam of her sword hilt and fit into his gut and he fell back before she angled her left sword in and stabbed directly, and angrily into his throat.

Finally the man she knocked over swung around over himself and at her legs, but with ferocity she slammed her right boot into his arm before he could connect and his arm flew back against his head and the blade flew from his grip. She smirked wickedly and spun both hilts in her hands and angled both blades down, and with mighty force she slammed both down. They both pierced into his flesh and he jolted up from the impact and gasped as blood erupted from the wounds and his throat.

All fifteen of the last had fallen and there comrades from before that lay dead as well. The captain stood shakily watching as he inched back from the ship toward the connecting plank. The sick, and slick sound of metal removing from flesh came as she yanked both blades out from the last man, and turned to the captain with a cool and calm look about her. Through all these actions not one was lacking in graciousness. Her every action refined with finesse and with class about her. Her body was slim, but obviously not lacking in muscle and raw power. Her chest heaved only lightly from the exertion and despite himself the captain found himself looking toward her breasts.

"The world of men changes rarely I see?" He was shaken from his observations. She graciously spun her blades once more and sheathed them onto her back.

"Even in fear and your possible final moments lust comes to your mind? How...primitive of you really." She chastised with that familiar aged air in her tone.

"You're from Umbar, are you not captain?" Without another word or thought the man turned. He stumbled and nearly fell but he threw himself across the plank board and back onto his corsair ship. The men remaining aboard having watched the whole sight with awe and wonder barely registered him coming aboard as the creature remained standing and staring toward them.

"MOVE THE SHIP!" He screamed as his heart beat faster and harder than ever before. The men suddenly sprung into action and the cut the rope lines and let the plank fall into the sea between the ships as the two ships immediately began to drift. Never did she move, only cock her head in what seemed to be dull interest at their actions.

The captain jumped up and threw himself against the far railing of his ship away from the other ship. It wasn't until he did so, that she suddenly turned and walked to the edge of her ship, and turned back toward him. His eyes grew large in horror. She suddenly ran toward the edge of the ship, and with unseen power threw herself into a jump. She leapt from the rail of her ship along the side facing the corsair ship and with what seemed to be inhuman power moved through the air, until she slammed down onto the creaking wood of the corsair vessel.

All men stumbled from where they were, and some fell unto their backs to the floor. The captain screamed and clung both hands to the rail of the ship where his back was against. She stood up to her full height, and rolled her shoulders. The whispers and audible fearful gasps of the men met her ears and she slowly observed them all from left to right. Her crimson eyes struck fear into them all, but not one dared raise his weapon. They chose instead to cower, rather than fight.

"That was very unwise, captain of the Umbar." She chastised and glared toward him. "Now, since I am aboard this uh...shall we say fine vessel." She glanced about with arms raised outward with a wrinkle of her nose, and disdain evident in her eyes. The dirtiness of the ship and foul smell obviously attacking her senses.

"I am in need of transport, and seeing as my vessel is far beyond anything you or anyone else of this continent deserve; not to mention it now has over a dozen corpses piled onto it, I'd like some courtesy." She smiled with a feral look about her and barely contained venom in her tone. She gracefully sat herself onto the rail with her back facing the sea and her ship drifting off into the distance. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side.

"So, can I hope to have your ship's courtesy of transport, captain? Or shall I be forced to make two ships lifeless this day?" The captain eyed his men who all hung back. Several of them had their arms spread out and kept one another back, and wished to be spared the creatures' wrath. The captain cleared his throat and opened his mouth to respond. Nothing came out, and he repeated the action three further times, and seemed to look as a fish removed from the sea and seeking breath.

"Ye...yes mistress! We...we shall indeed take you as you wish! Anywhere you please, just please don't-" She jumped to a stand and raised a silencing hand. Her crimson eyes danced in mirth and humor, and her smile turned to a lowly smirk.

"Please captain, you needn't wet yourself before what men you bear left on this vessel." The obvious insult did nothing to alleviate the trembling fear he contained within himself.

"I needn't be taken far. Merely to the coast of southern...Gondor I believe the realm is called. I am aware your realm and that of Gondor do not hold any love for the other, but I ask little. Take this ship upon the sands of the shore, or nearest as you can to not beach thyself. I shall make my leave there with no further spilling of blood." She commanded as if the captain of this ship, and she once more sat herself gently along the rail and folded her hands among themselves in her lap.

She seemed very ladylike, even lordly. Save for the copious amount of bloodstains across her blackened attire.

The captain swallowed a lump within his throat and jerked his head toward his men.

"Set sail! Move, move you useless dogs! We make for the southern shores of Gondor!" The men, wide-eyed, and full of fear scurried like roaches or rats hidden amongst the cargo in the lower decks. They flew about, but all kept away from the dark-skinned lady and moved to set the sails and move the ship. All of them working doubly as fast to do as they must, with half their crewmen dead.

The captain dared near to her but a few tentative more steps. Her eyes seemed distant even if they remained on him. Slowly tracing and following his every movements. The men around them called out, all of their voices filled with terror, and urgency. He came about to her right but stayed far from her by several notable steps. His eyes moved to the sea and the retreating sails of her vessel.

"Mistress...what then of your ship." She cocked her face further toward him. A questioning raise in her brow was notable.

"We...well, it is a mighty ship, and s...s...so you said it is unworthy of all amongst us. Letting it drift will assuredly bring it to others who search the seas. Or, at the least it shall beach itself somewhere from southern Gondor maybe even to the southern tips of Enedwaith." Her eyes lit even if they still seemed far off, and she turned her head back straight. She rolled her shoulders again and sighed.

"You needn't worry yourself, captain. Your men failed in many things. Killing me was one, but finding but a single simple barrel in the lower deck was another. It shall take care of this issue you take with its drifting." The captain furrowed his brow.

But, as he did so the boat shook as a loud trembling crack rung through the air. All the men fell to the deck of the corsair ship and some weaker nerved among them screamed as children before a monster. An orange light filled the sky for but a moment, and immense heat came over the ship as the waters rolled and the ship swung lightly from side to side.

The captain shakily rose up and his hands clasped the rail. He peeked over it and looked out to sea as the fireball arose with black coking smoke following in its wake. The ship she had come from and many of his men had laid dead upon erupted in fire. Fragments of wood and metal flew into the air and fell back into the water. The sails ripped from their masts and flew freely into the winds, as the cracked wooden hull of the ship began to sink the once mighty ship into the ocean waters.

The dark-lady sat unmoving and calm as her cloak whipped lightly in the explosive winds. The captain and his men wobbly and shakily rose to stands. All of them casting awed looks toward the sinking ship. The roar of the fires could be heard from where their ship moved its way north along the waters of the Bay of Belfalas.

"What wa-"

"You needn't know. Nor would I expect or hope to explain it to you captain/" She cut him off, and closed her eyes without worry, and sighed contentedly.

"Take me to where I need be captain. From there I shall depart, and you may return to your ports at Umbar. I expect nothing less than for you and your men to speak fondly of this day. Of what has transpired here." She laughed sarcastically, and went into silence. The captain for but a moment thought of raising a blade to cut her down as her eyes remained closed. But, a voice within him rumbled out of fear how foolish such an action would be.

So the captain of this dirty, blackened, and smelly corsair made his way from the rail and toward the ship wheel. He kept his eyes trained on the strange creature. He dare not inquire as to what she was. He let himself stay silent and alive. His men worked and scurried about in fear and anxiety, but in a silence he had never known his men to have amongst themselves.

It would take but a few hours to arrive along the shores of Gondor, where no ship of theirs would come against them, for the kingdom lacked any. It was in not long before the ship came upon the shores of Lebennin. As promised, and with utter silence, and a deceptively kindly and thankful smile along her face, the creature departed from his corsair. She jumped off the side and into the shallow waters. She slowly dragged her booted feet through the sands and waters, until upon the sands of the land. She didn't turn back once, and not a one man dared to lift a weapon to shoot against her. She disappeared off into the green lands of Gondor. The captain then hollered and railed and shouted for his men to make away from Gondor and return toward Umbar, and her safe ports.

He had a story to tell, that he was sure was to spread like wildfire through the lands.

* * *

"Indeed these lands hold some green in them." Náthena uttered lowly. She moved through these lands with quick feet and mostly silence to be left alone to her thoughts, for they were many and anxiously paced. Her blackened clothes were still stained in the blood of the foul men from Umbar, and she now kept a hood over her head that leaned in low along her brow to hide from those she may see or pass from seeing her more closely.

Her flight from her queens mighty kingdom had been swift and it had been chaotic. The queens men came upon her and those foolish enough to resist her rule. They pillaged their house of secrecy and killed all those within. Save but two. Herself and another dark elf. Nolgím. He had been her partner in resistance for some years of their long-lived lives. They ran, and ran. For how long she didn't know. The star of day began to fade and darkness of night fell upon them as they made from city to plains into the woodlands. Then to the port of Alta-Lerya. The ports were filled with hundreds of the mighty ships of great possible plight. These would befall those who went unsuspecting soon enough, and so she and Nolgím made to steal but one, and make north to the great unknown.

The felled creatures in service to their queen guarded these blackened ports. They came upon the two wayward moriquendi of a mighty nation lacking any others. Their arrows fell upon them, and their pursing kin. But for one or two brought low, more would come, and their bolts flew and fell against them. Falling onto but one of the ships and making to take it Nolgím was felled by a black arrow. It flew and screamed through the air with evil purpose and precision. It snapped bones and cleaved flesh as it pierced through his unarmored cloth and through the center of his spine. The arrowhead pierced out from his chest and had gone through his heart.

A final plea passed from his lips and his red eyes went cold and lifeless. He fell into the port waters and his body floated freely faced down. She felled the pursuers further and made with great effort and no small amount of luck, out of port with her ship. The legions of her queen did not leave port but watched on silent and unmoving. A chill going through the air, as the last of the resistance across the continent for their queen's rule made for the great unknown of the northern seas.

She sighed as the memories passed. Her few arrows left in her satchel along her back clung and shook as she moved swiftly across the plains and sparse woods of this land. Her blades added to the clangs along her back and of her gear. Náthena had but a single purpose now as she traveled through Gondor. To come before the leaders of this already unimpressive continent and warn them all to the coming of Úcarëtári.

Náthena let the power within her blood carry her for many miles. Her swift movements never tarrying, and her thoughts never ceasing as she focused on remembering the layout of the lands, and sifted through her memory. It would be many hours, a night and then another passing without ceasing to rest. Her legs began to ache, but recovered quickly. She would not cease still as she made north along the great river she came upon, and knew to be named Anduin. It would not be long until the river known as Erui came before her and she crossed it.

Only then did she cease her running, and sat herself perched along a small hill along the river. She turned herself east as she sat and lit a small fire for herself. A great mountain range lay beyond, with ceaseless clouds obscuring the glittering stars above from her vision. A great red and heated crack of rage and wrath made itself known to her, and she knew then that whatever lay beyond must be a mighty volcano. She felt a wisp of wind travel along her face. And sh closed her eyes to rest and center her thoughts. Her aches and pains would quickly leave her and come to her then would be a soothing calm warmness. As she sat beneath the ever caressing glitter of stars she let herself feel whole again.

That was until she heard a distant snapping of twigs. Her darkened eyelids fluttered open. Night hung over still, and what felt like moments had been hours. She had sat in quiet and contemplation, and had let her surroundings go for a time, but still did her fire burn beside her. A shuffling of legs leaves and snap of bark caught her powerful ears from near.

She sat still, and with her legs crossed. Her head only moving slightly with the sounds. They soon turned from but shuffling foliage and snapping twigs to that of grunts, snorts, and squeals. The sounds came from behind her and to the west. She felt her lips curl into a frown on their own, and her brow became etched in a furrow, but it was one of disgust. She knew now what lay behind her like a pack of wild swine.

She didn't move though she knew that they neared. She wanted to see what they dare try. She felt no fear, and wished for them to hurry upon her. It took little time, until she heard the draw back of a bow string, and drawing of swords from sheaths.

"Oy, what have we here?" One of them with a deep and nasally voice cried out in obvious attempt to catch her off guard and frighten her. She did not respond. Only smirked where they could not see.

"Well, well! Seems one of the women of Gondor thinks herself safe in these here parts!" The same voice chortled, followed by what Náthena counted to be distinct laughter from twelve others. Though she let herself possibly be off by one or two.

"Let's skin her, and eat her! I haven't had a good meal in weeks!" A ratty sounding and squeaky voiced second spoke followed by agreeing squeaks and squeals by some of their pack.

"No, no, we gots here boys is some entertainment!" A third deeper, but not as deep voice as the firsts' declared with a hint of excited hopefulness in his tone.

"I says, we have each of us a go at her, and then we eats her!" The lot of them laughed and squealed in happiness. Náthena smirked and shook her head. Her smirk turned to a low grin and she laughed openly. Her laugh overtook theirs and she rose to a stand.

"Oy, girly, what you be laughing at?!"

"Oh, but a sad pack of sweaty leftovers." She turned upon them and let the roaring small fire behind her light her. She let her hood fall, and even in the dim lights of the fire and the stars the orcs took notice of her features. Their grunts and teeth gnashing confused jerking faces and heads let her know they had been completely caught off guard. Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Three held bows with notched arrows at the ready. They stood between small little packs of other orcs wielding scimitars or black knives. One to the center surrounded by three others was slightly taller, and immensely fatter than the others. He must have been their leader. All of the beady eyed, blotched skinned, and crooked-bowlegged disgusting creatures looked her up and down. They stood silent for a moment in wonder, before turning to their leader.

He snarled through a combination of a rough gargle of his throat and nose and snarled.

"What are you, eh? I've never seen a man that looks like you. Nor one of their wenches!"

She smiled and cocked her head toward him.

"Wenches? Why the vocabulary of your kind is less than I would have even dared to guess. My expectations had been low, but I am sorry to see I needed to place them far lower for your miserable lot."

"Oy! She just insulted us!" That ratty one from before pointed out. Both with his insulted tone and with a boney and pale finger directed at her. His pack began gnashing and spitting venom toward her. She merely crossed her arms.

"Shut it maggot!" The leader snarled and brushed past his guards with a large pickax in his hand. "I don't care what she says! I wanna know what you are she-wench, or I'll skin you all the same." He threatened and raised his weapon as if to sell his point to her.

"Why, I'm an elf." The lot of them, she now noticed to be barely five feet tall. They began to again look to each other in confusion and some with frowns and winkled brows. They didn't seem to like the answer she gave.

"Ain't ever seen no elf with your looks!" Another of their pack who hadn't spoke before cried out from behind another bigger orc. His tone was accusatory and again seemed to be looking for agreement amongst his kin. They grunted it to him, and their chief again raised his hand t shut them up.

"He's right. Ain't ever been an elf with skin like yours. Or eyes from what I can see! I don't like liars wench!"

"Really? From what I have been led to believe from amongst my people, orcs are good at it." That caused a ruckus among the lot who took offense to that.

"Hey did she call us all liars?!"

"I'd have her skin for that!"

"Kill her!" They began calling out one after the other and chortled or grunted about each other approvingly.

"A sorry captain you make. For you cannot even make them stay quiet." She addressed the fat tall one, who growled with bared teeth and snorted. He suddenly flung around and pointed the blunted head of his pickax toward all the orcs.

"Oy, if anyone of you so much as pipe in again while I be conversating' I'll have your skin, and feed you to the others!" Náthena smirked and rolled her crimson eyes. The fat one turned back toward her.

"I ain't about to have some wench call me liar. Especially when she lies to me bout' what she is!" He growled like a wild boar. She nodded along in feign understanding.

"Of course, oh mighty captain." She spoke with a honey filled voice. The orc captain shook his head, and his beady eyes winced.

"I wouldn't hope to lie to but a one of you. I am but a friend." Her voice dripped with coolness and almost seemed like a whisper in the wind. It traveled to the lot of them, and they followed their captain. The orcs began shaking their heads and their visions hazed. Forcing them to shake the confusion from themselves. The captain grunted and his left hand gripped his forehead.

"Good!" he called out with another pointed look about him. "Then tell me what you are!" He demanded with rage growing within him.

"I am but a wandering traveler from far off lands." Her voice now carried what seemed a distant echo. It rumbled lowly within all their ears and filled their minds with haziness and jumbled thoughts. They all tried to shake the cloudiness from their minds and visions.

"I am but a strange elf to you captain. One that you have not seen because I am from so far away. But I assure you I tell the truth, do I not?" Her voice carried weight and power beyond it, and the orc captain lowered his weapon and grasped his head with his left hand. It hurt, and he felt confused. His vision blurred and before him she turned from something dark and strange until a glowing light seemed to encase her figure.

"Ye...yeah, just an elf." The captain said. His beady eyes trailing along her now glowing figure. The rest of the pack did not see it, but still saw just her standing there. Their visions blurred and minds racing.

"Now captain, your men whisper behind your back, and half of them want you dead. Hear them say so, and know who your true enemies are." Her whisper gnawed at his ears and bored into his mind. But suddenly his mind became clear, and her words rung true within him. He snarled and flung around.

"If anyone of you got the guts to try and kill me then go on and try!" He threw his pickax up and held it ready to hack down the first to come at him. The rest of his pack all looked confused and flung back some.

"Ain't nobody said nothing bout' killing you boss!"

"Yeah, you're hearing things." Two of them spoke out, and Náthena trailed her eyes across those two, and then to those around them.

"No he hears clearly." Her voice spoke followed by a soft echo directed toward them. "You have heard them too, but only now do you remember. Those among you seek to kill you and take your food, and your weapons. You know who among you are loyal and those who are not." They joined their captain, and grasped their heads first in pain, but then flung themselves back up into full statures as their thoughts became clear and aware!

"Oy! I heard you say you wanted to gut the captain!" One orc among those Náthena had chosen declared to another orc opposite him. He was an under-jawed stout little orc that seemed dumbstruck.

"You heard what?! I'd have your hide for that Tharb!" He yanked a word from his side, and called out the accusatory orcs name. That orc pointed his sword toward that orc and snarled like an animal challenging another over territory. The rest of the lot pulled or pointed swords to one another and the captain waved his weapon from one end to the other.

"I heard you say you skimmed more meat off the last horse we got! Meat that was supposed to be for the captain!" The accused orc yelled back to the accusing one. Náthena cocked her eyebrow and watched them carry on with a smirk along her face.

"You scum! I'll stick you on a pike and carry you back to Mordor!" The captain swung toward the first orc. Indeed the one who stood up for him first. That orc slashed up and their weapons met and they clashed with one another for a few moments.

"He's lying boss! I ain't ever touched more meats than given, I swears!" The orc cried as the captain kicked him with one of his fat and heavy legs. He fell onto his back and on his clunky haphazard black armor. He threw his hand up in plea for his life as the captain approached ominously.

"Wait boss, we kill the others, and we'll all have meat to share from that horse we gots yesterday! I shows ya' I ain't ever stolen any meats!"

"Stick him captain!" One yelled and the rest grunted and squealed. The captain snarled and swung his pickax down. It pierced the little orcs armor, and down into him. He squealed and cried as his black blood began flying. The rest of the orcs gathered around and shoved each other to watch the captain kill the little orc.

But soon their shoving became pushing, and punching or kicking. Those with drawn swords then slashed at each other. They gnashed, howled, bit and spat and fought. The whole of the pack turned to battle and violence. Sticking and gashing and cutting each other. Their black blood flew and fell one by one.

One of them threw himself onto the captain's back as he hacked down another of his men and began sticking him again and again with his knife, and even biting into his neck to cling onto him. The captain thrashed and swung the littler orc around and finally grabbed him to throw him to the grass below with a thud. He hacked down into him and killed another.

He swung up wildly and his pickax was so heavy and drenched in blood that his whole body was turned right from the force of his pull. As he was thrust toward the east and the clangs of his pack killing one another entered his ears he looked at the mountains of shadow beyond.

It was then that he grunted out, and looked down as pain filled his body. Coming through him was a long curved scimitar end. Whoever wielded the weapon grunted and put a boot to his back and yanked it back out from his back. As the orc captain fell to his knees and his vision dimmed, he realized just as he was falling and looking to the east. That only the fire of the elf burned, but she was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The sunlight shone down upon Náthena as she sat atop a fine brown shaded horse. It had accepted her immediately when she had come upon it. Beyond that pack of blathering orcs had been this fair steed with reins and saddle upon him. She could only assume he had been a farmers horse, and those orcs had helped themselves to him. Probably after killing those upon the homestead.

As the orcs had gone about cutting one another down, all from but a small dose of magic she and all of her people knew. Náthena came to the steed, it's eyes wide and beautifully black with fear as it heard the orcs slashing and gnashing not too far away. She smiled a true and honest smile as her hand ran along its black mane. It immediately calmed as a small pulse of her elvish nature and power came upon and into him. He bowed his head where she noted a small diamond of white atop his head. She patted his head down to his nose and looked him in the eyes. She felt his fear alleviate and spoke to him in a calming sooth in her native tongue. An advanced near Quenya that was similar but close to the ancient Quendi.

The steed bowed to her and accepted her spoken plea to take him from these orcs and use him to help her get where she needed to go. She took herself atop him, and there named him Eldamel. She then rode him through the night northwards. The glittering stars faded and sun rose into the skies. She continued to follow the river, and there she now was.

She had gone just north of what she now turned to see were two cities. One was in ruin and to the east. The other she had seen the night before, but had not given it much mind in her weariness. Then her later unwanted visitors. It was glowing white in the sunlight and stood tall and mighty. In stark contrast to the blackened and hateful black mountains to the east that towered over both cities. The smoldering fire and smoke beyond it rumbling intermittently all through the night and day.

Her crimson eyes, now once more hidden beneath her blackened cowl looked toward the glittering white city with a small amount of awe, but she felt the wind. It carried only what she could describe to herself as dreariness, and depression. It felt stiff, and grim as darkness loomed ever on the border of consuming them entirely. Only holding to but a feint glimmer of hope that none could see, but all dared to reach for. Never to actually grasp it.

"Ill, does this land feel to be." She stroked Eldamel's mane idly as she intoned to herself. She twisted him back south toward where she had previously made camp. Her eyes narrowed as she thought and reasoned in her mind strings of thought as they passed through.

"From the west they had come. Yet do I feel they should have come from east." She glanced to the mountains, and knew it to hold great darkness behind it beyond thundering volcanoes and endless ashen clouds.

"If whatever darkness crawls from the east can so readily and easily make its way across the river west. What hope does this land hold to fight?" She turned to the winding city. "What power can that city wield if it cannot stop orcs from crossing its rivers." Her stare turned to a glare as she then looked to the ruined city along the river, and she shook her head.

"Even here, Men fail to fight against the tides of darkness." The horse whipped its head slightly and she patted him. Without further thought she gently pushed Eldamel forward, and made north once more. Not within these lands would she find power enough to stem the growing tide of darkness. Not here, and certainly not from beyond the seas.

So she continued her travels north. Her face carrying a seemingly ceaseless frown as she went. A one dark elf in a land that was lacking nothing so it seemed. But power to resist.

* * *

Within the lands of Mordor there marched about the valley of Udûn tens of thousands of orcs. Orcs of all breeds and classifications. Morannon, Morgul, some from Gundabad, of Dol Guldur, and Goblin wretches from the far northern mountains. The hordes of darkness, twisted and corrupted were answering their masters call. The call of Mordor, and the call of Sauron.

Within the great tower, and fortress that stood as the tallest and most mighty bastion in all of Middle-Earth, Barad-dûr; there remained the ancient black spirit. The deceiver of men and elves, and he who stood beside the first lord of darkness Morgoth. The Dark Lord Sauron.

At the pinnacle of his mighty fortress between the pillars that rose toward the heavens shrouded in ashen clouds lay a lidless eye. It burned with fire that was only matched by the fire of wrath, rage, and hatred that lay within the spirit that produced this manifestation of darkness and evil. Its pupil was as black as the eternal void, and shaped like that of a wild cat. A diamond that was of not, but master to the eternal flames about it.

If one were to near this great flaming eye their ears would be assaulted by the roar of power and dark and twisted magic. As a cold chill would flutter through their bodies, but they would no less feel the heat of its flames and wrath. They would be deathly cold, but hot all at once.

The Great Eye remained overlooking the lands of Mordor, but even beyond. For indeed it saw all. It pierced shadow, Earth and flesh. It was power, and thus was bore on all banners of the legions of Mordor. It oversaw the great plains of Gorgoroth, and onto Orodruin, or Mount Doom. It saw beyond to the lands of Núrn where lay what orcs were needed to overlook the sprawling hut villages of slaves needed to tend the fields that would feed Sauron's armies. The great sea of Núrn providing fertile soil and all the food his wretched hordes would need.

To the east lay Rhûn, and to the south was Harad. Both held hatred for the men of the west, and the Dark Lord would use these men well. For they among all peoples knew whom the Lord of the Earth was, and to whom was King of all Men. To the west, and to the north lay the enemies of Sauron. All of them fading, and all of them dying. No more was there power within Men, Elves, Dwarves, or any other creature and realm that could dare defy him.

Middle-Earth was ready to fall.

So it was, that the dark lord, at a loss for a body remained caged up within the highest confines of his tower. It was here that word reached him from but one of his nine greatest and darkest lieutenants that a ship from the south, in Umbar had been waylaid by but one woman. And that the captain had lost half his crew to her bow, arrows, and her knives. It was said that she was not of the world of men, and nor was she an elf or disgusting dwarf.

Her description was beyond anything Sauron had known save for maybe an orc, but even that did not fit. So now the Dark Lord was, a body of nothing but endlessly whipping black smoke with endlessly swirling power. He was within his mighty throne, and before him trembling at his knees was the captain. Next to him stood the wraith that had brought him forth.

"Speak! And tell me when you saw this creature." The deep and booming voice of the Dark Lord rung out. It sent a chill through the captain. Who know knew fear even beyond what he had experienced that fateful day aboard his corsair.

"I...we...she came from nowhere! We had found a ship drifting in the great bay and no one was seen aboard! I had hoped to take whatever lay aboard for myself and even the ship! It was a fine ship, and made no less for war my lord." He trembled with every syllable, and felt his heart beat at an immensely furious pace.

"She came upon us, and killed all my boarding crew. Th...there was nothing worth taking. There was nothing aboard at all even!"

"When did you see her, captain? What day?" The fell voice demanded once more but calmer than before.

"This was four weeks ago my lord." He spoke and kept his head facing the darkened but well cleaned floor beneath himself. He feared that looking to the dark one would alone kill him.

"I needn't another description of her captain. I have heard enough of your plight, and that of your men. Be gone from my sight! Return forth to your ship, and fail me not again!" The Dark Lord burned in momentary wrath as he ordered the trembling man. He rose to a quick stand and bumbled out a 'thank you,' before running out of the room where he would be received by orcs to lead him from the dark tower. After the long travel down.

"Khamûl." Sauron spoke after a pause. The wraith fell to his knee and bowed among the blackened robes.

"Command me, my lord Sauron!"

"Send word to all corners of control, and allies. Give them full descriptions of this creature, and bring her to me. Alive! And, unspoilt by the hands of any. This is my command to you." The Nazgûl bowed his head further still toward the ground.

"It shall be done, my lord Sauron."

"I feel the coming of this unknown creature to be an omen. Of what I cannot yet say, but I can sense it nonetheless. A whisper of foul wind from the edge shadows in my perception. I want her before me, and I want to know where she had come from, and by what way she commanded such a ship to match that of those bumbling imbeciles we call allies!" Again Khamûl bowed.

"I will carry out your commandments my lord. She will not get far!"

"Be sure you do, and do not fail me again." The wraith raised himself up and left the Dark Lords presence. Before him then lay the Ithil palantir. He had news to send to his ally in the northern realms. Sauron was sure the wizard would find the news, deeply intriguing.

* * *

"This land is not as I remember it being told to me." Náthena grumbled. She was atop Eldamel. She and him had been together for a great many days now since her leaving of the lands of Gondor. Her mind hung heavy on the maps she had seen of these lands. Her mistress and queen had them in abundance, for her spies were many, and they had acquired them for her.

In the dead of night she would hear sounds like that of the first coming of those orcs. And, always would she sit in silence and wonder if one of those spies were to come from the trees and make to kill her. Though she highly doubted it to be so, she never doubted that the queen or her top lieutenants would send them to attempt it.

Nonetheless she followed her senses as they took her west. To the realm of horsemen she knew to be in the land of Rohan she made for first. What she found was a kingdom in disorder, disarray, and failing. Peasants tending to farms lacking in men, and wealth. Despair and depression festered through the plains and even the steeds seemed downtrodden. Her cowl was kept low to hide her from those who passed, but every now and again one would pass by and give her a second glance. She was, however, lucky. For they all could not see her, and she always made doubly sure to not be seen by them. Using what little magic she dared to disrupt their vision.

She had one night led Eldamel atop a small hill amongst a far spanning yellow country of fields and plains. Her cowl atop her head and cloth looming down from her shoulders she looked outwards. Before her and her steed lay a city atop a greater rocky hill. It was, from what she recalled known as Edoras.

Her crimson eyes looked upon it, but then she felt nothing but dread and despair flood outward from this place. It reeked of fear, and disunion. It had no power within it as it had none around it. She frowned then, and she and Eldamel departed. There was nothing to be found of use here among Rohan, as none had been in Gondor. More and more she began to realize that these lands were all but dead already.

So she kept westward. The draw of the west was strong for her, and from what she recalled of her maps there was little unity and few realms to be found there either. She knew of elven lands to the northwest, and dwarven homes in the far northern mountains before the icy wastes of the greater north. She passed through the gap of Rohan, but did not dare to go north.

For in the northern tip of the gap she could feel a felled chill fall upon her and whisper from afar. It was the blackness that went unseen but drifted over Rohan. Its arm was stretched outward over the realm and sought to consume it. For what reasons she did not know, but from there a great and terrible power lay, and she did not dare to near it too closely. For it may have well known her presence in kind. From it she could feel no aid would come, even if she tried, or wanted it.

So west ever onwards did she go. Then did she then turn north. Among the plains and old forests she found villages, and towns. Full of fattened wasteful men. All of them little to offer but men guarding laughable gate and wondering who came and who went from their little townships. No armies, no lord, and no power about them.

Náthena traveled along a river, whose name she knew not, and as she continued cared not. Weeks now had she been on horseback, and now she dared to wonder if coming here was at all worthwhile. It would seem fair enough to say at the moment Úcarëtári could and likely would take all these lands before her. She thought as much as she kept on northwards, and decided that she would turn east and perhaps over the mountains alone if need be, but only after she beheld the northern, and forgotten kin of the moriquendi.

She passed by ruins, and cities that had long since been ruined. Some great war or other darkness had descended upon these lands in times long since passed, and she did not care to know when or how, or even the why. For everything seemed dulled, muted, grayed even if green, and at a loss of hope or lacking in power. Her crimson eyes remained steadily forward as she let Eldamel trot forward at a slow but peaceful pace north. She was not tired. Only annoyed, angered even! For nothing in these lands seemed worthy, but worse still even capable of fending off what was to come! Not from this continent and certainly not from those beyond.

"Halt! If you'd please!" Her head darted up, as the voice called out. She cursed under her breath for letting her mind wander and watchful senses leave her. The voice was mannish and deep. She pulled on Eldamel's reins and her darkly gloved hands grasped them tightly. She scanned about herself for the source of the voice, and made sure to keep her cowl low upon her head.

"Hold a moment!" It called again. She furrowed her brow. As she could tell from the breathlessness of the voice he was tired. Náthena finally turned Eldamel about the small, quaint, and poorly maintained cobblestone road she had stuck to for some days now in her journey north.

There she beheld him. A man with shaggy brownish hair. His clothing was not very armored save for what she thought to be some chain-mail about him. Along him he had a tunic and leather clothing. Along his waist was a hanging long broadsword that was sheathed. His left arm was free and swinging at his side, but his right arm was swung over shoulder and behind him swung a mighty circular shield. Beyond that she took note of his strong physique, tall form, and facial hair about his face.

"Tread lightly stranger." Náthena called as she worked some of her magic upon him and lowered her cowl further. "I am not accustomed to strangers, and will not take pity to those who play tricks to steal like brigands." She made in an accusatory but strong tone.

The man came to a stop near to her and huffed as his eyes narrowed and he tried to get a good look at her from the few feet away he stood. A breathy laugh came from his chest and he smiled.

"You needn't worry about brigands milady. I haven't come upon anything yet I desire so much I would take it from those unwilling to give it." He bowed his head with mirth in his voice.

"Is that so? Then you are but one among many I have come upon so far. Men of these lands seek only to take, so far as I have seen. That or they lack of any use." The man cocked a brow to that, and finally lowered his tired right arm and the shield upon it he had swung over his shoulder.

"Is that so? I fear then you have been through Dunland, or maybe the far south-lands. I am of Gondor milady! You need not fear any man of my realm. We are proud, fair, and certainly not thieves. Of those among us who are they should and do suffer the fate deserving of their title." Náthena wanted very much to rebuke his claim, but then she reminded herself she had not actually met a Gondorian in person. So instead she silenced herself with a hefty sigh from her nose.

"Very well Gondorian. Though I may be from lands far beyond these, I even know that you are yourself in distant lands from Gondor. So tell me," She jostled Eldamel sideways. "what brings you here beyond Rohan and further still?" He smiled again along his strong features and nodded.

"Indeed I am far from home. I would tell you my business milady. However, I fear I yet do not know your name, nor your business here either! Forgive my saying so, but few people I have come upon who carry an accent such as yours." Indeed Náthena had made to silence it, but her westron was not as great as she desired it to be. Sometimes her words were inflected wrongly, or syllables drawn out. Her voice was high, and womanly, but strong and commanding. Like her body, it sounded younger than she actually was. It slightly irked her, but this was her body, and her voice, as it were.

"From distant lands I travel amongst the people of Middle-Earth, Gondorian. Far beyond even your oceans I have come from. A great warning of peril I bring. One that will befall all nations, and kingdoms." He cocked his head to the side, and his expression turned to one of confusion.

"You are not of Middle-Earth?! Surely you don't mean to say there are lands beyond!"

"It would be perhaps too much of me to hope you know of the men of Númenor. These men came across Middle-Earth and from what I have been told came upon my home as well, before my queen destroyed them utterly from our lands." His eyes widened.

"Indeed I do know of the tales of Númenor! My people are great descendants of those fine and powerful men. Surely if they found your lands they would have laid claim or made homes there."

"They did, and for that the one I come to warn you all of destroyed them, and took their children as slaves. As have been every one of your kind on those lands since." She drearily informed, and his expression then turned sour, but then quickly contemplative, and back to curious.

"My kind? Then you say you are not of men? Are you elf? Certainly you cannot be dwarvish or an orc." He chuckled with a small grin upon his face. She again cursed in elvish under her breath at her poor choice of words. She then let fall her small use of magic, and watched as his expression immediately turned shocked and he took a few steps back.

She glared his way and pushed her cowl back to let be seen her face in the light of the sun, and her whitened hair seemed to glow, as did her blood-red eyes. Her grayish skin tone was bared before him, as was just how dark her clothing was, and how pointed her ears are.

"I am certainly now easily shown to not be of your continent, now aren't I?" She allowed a small smirk to flutter across her features then. He nodded, but she could see he was now the more wary one. Though his hand did not yet go to his sword hilt.

"I am of elf kind, that enough is true. However, my people were long ago, far beyond your lifespan and that of even Númenor, were forgotten of by the elves you know of in these lands. We are Moriquendi, and we migrated to a continent not at all far from this one to the greater south. Beyond the realm you call Harad, and beyond the waters there. I am, as my people are, a dark elf. And I can see my form disturbs you." He made to speak, but then stopped himself, and cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, but I had not expected you to look as you do. Indeed I am impressed." he chuckled again, but this time a bit more nervously, though he seemed ready to pounce at a moments notice.

"I had also been trying to look clearly upon you since our first meeting, but I found my vision hazed. As if blurred, but for only where you stood."

"I will admit that was my doing." She bowed her head, and he cocked his own once more. "I, and many of my people have within us all some power. Magic, or whatever you may seek to call it. I do not use it often, but for when it is I feel necessary to do so." She commented with a stiff and self-assured nod. "After all, I did not, and nor do I still know who you are. I only let the affect you speak of drop, because I foolishly admitted to not being of men." He nodded slowly as he mulled over what she spoke of.

"Well then. Many surprises I have come upon this day!" He spoke with an air of coolness about him, though his eyes still worriedly traveled along her form, or so she imagined them to be.

"Forgive my surprise, but indeed you are the first of your kind I have ever seen. Not so much of terrible sight though. If I may compliment you milady." He bowed at the waist, and Náthena rolled her eyes.

"It is appreciated Gondorian, but no compliments need be made for me." He bowed his head and conceded to her wish. "I shall ell you then my name if you would grace me with yours first. For I believe I have given you more than enough information to warrant but your name."

"Indeed you have, and doubly so I must say." He agreed. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor. Steward and lord of Gondor." Boromir said with a lordly air about his tone, and a more stiff and rigid bow at his waist.

"I am a captain in service to my father. And to the realms of Gondor."

"Well met, Boromir, captain of Gondor." Náthena in all her accented glory bowed her head in meeting.

"My name as given to me, is Náthena. I am known as betrayer, and rebel to the queen of my people and to our kingdom. I seek to come before those with power in these lands to warn them of her coming. For she brings with her a mighty and terrible host." Boromir seemed troubled and sighed.

"That is fell news indeed. Perhaps my dream has something to do with your coming."

"Dream?" She questioned.

"Ah forgive me. I never did answer your question. I am in these far off lands from my home to take council with lord Elrond of Rivendell. I and my brother were plagued with dreams with a riddle. And lord Elrond is well known for his wisdom, even to my father and me. My dream spoke of doom, and I must seek his council in this matter. Beyond that word has also been whispered that a terrible power has returned to the world. A weapon of Sauron." Náthena didn't seem phased and simply nodded once.

"That name is known to us. When once in service to my mistress the queen I heard her speak of him. She has great hatred for him burning within her. They seem to have known one another at a time long before. She claimed that no power that remained within him could dare stand against her." Boromir seemed unconvinced.

"Sauron and the hordes of Mordor have long brought suffering and death to my people. I would not be so careless in declaring his weakness milady. He is powerful even now, and by the day Mordor grows darker and stronger." Náthena saw a haze of anger, and revulsion pass over the man. His temper rising and a dark mood passing over him brought before her a swing in moods she had rarely seen. It was almost troubling.

"In any case," His expression changed back into a small smile. "I think our destination is the same! And if not, then I would recommend it be so. Lord Elrond is an elf lord. He may have the power you seek to guide and council you. You may yet find those willing to listen to your tales of this queen of yours. I too desire to hear it, but alas, I am very tired." He laughed, and Náthena raised her brows curiously, with a hint of a smirk on her dark features.

"Oh, and why is that, captain of Gondor?" She almost teasingly, or tauntingly inquired. He looked slightly embarrassed and motioned his left free arm backwards and behind himself.

"Several days ago I lost my horse while traveling through Tharbad, and have been traveling on foot since then to Rivendell. Your passing has been a blessing by Ilúvatar!" Náthena smirked more openly and her crimson colored eyes glittered with mirth.

"I see. Then what does the captain of Gondor think I should do for him? Come down from atop my horse and let him take the reins from me? Leave me to walk the rest of the way to this city you speak of?" She asked curiously. His eyes turned pleading, but his expression turned remained smiling, and jovial.

"It wouldn't hurt milady Náthena. But, I dare not ask something quite so selfish of someone with magic at their disposal." Boromir chuckled, and she again rolled her eyes.

"Rather lady Náthena, I suggest we travel together to Rivendell! But if I may be so bold as to suggest we perhaps take turns riding this most fair and sturdy seeming steed you have." Náthena smiled and leaned in close to Eldamel's left ear.

"What say you Eldamel? Shall we let the captain of Gondor rest his feet and rise you for a time?" The horse almost seemed to answer and whipped its head to the right and snorted some. Boromir looked on in wonder. Surely thinking she indeed was speaking with the horse. And, he would not be wholly mistaken.

"This steed, one of many wondrous creatures of the natural world he is. I am not ashamed to say I took him from a pack of orcs on my way north from Gondor. So I think he'd have little issue in bearing your weight, my lord Boromir." She threw one leg over her saddle and plopped to the ground easily. Boromir sighed in relief and neared her and Eldamel.

Náthena moved away, but offered to take his shield. He was wary but for a moment. He relented though and she took it and notched it to a resting place along Eldamel. As Boromir fully got atop the horse he patted its head and sighed.

"A relief indeed! Blessed are you Eldamel, steed of Gondor!" Boromir laughed and kept patting the horse affectionately who leaned into the caresses. Náthena stood beside him, and let Boromir pull Eldamel toward the north once more. She made her way alongside and walked at a steady and fast pace with the horse and utilized her natural speed and grace as an elf. It almost seemed that Eldamel made sure she was beside him too.

"This horse is from Gondor you say?" She nodded. "Then doubly a fine steed he truly is!" Boromir pridefully laughed. "A fair and deserving end that pack of creatures met. Or, so I assume?" Náthena thought back to them, and their 'end.' She smirked coolly and unseen by Boromir. Before wiping it away and nodding.

"Ah then good news travels along with bleak this day! I should hope we become good friends Náthena of the moriquendi." He smiled. "Or at least very good acquaintances." Náthena let loose a breath and seemed contemplative. Though half in jest.

"That shall be decided upon by your character and actions, my lord Boromir. Yet, as first meetings come this one was by far the best I've had in these lands. So, you have certainly made a welcomed impression. We shall see if that is maintained." She smirked.

"Ah, then it is a test! I shall endeavor to meet and even surpass your expectations lady Náthena. After all, what good am I if the first Gondorian man a dark elf falls upon proves himself lacking in character?!" Náthena bowed her head, her crimson eyes once again seeming distant, but to none who looked upon her.

"I look forward to it, Boromir son of Denethor. Let us hope both our concerns are answered in Rivendell. Before his lord Elrond you speak of."

"As do I my lady." He inclined his head in agreement, and stared forward along the tattered old road they found themselves. As the two acquaintances made their way along in relative silence for some time. Until night fell, and Eldamel became tired as did the captain of Gondor, and the three of them made camp under the starlight.

* * *

**Authors Note:** Hey guys, sorry for the long wait, but I got two other major stories to update and classes...yay (sarcasm). Anyways, please excuse or point out to me any and all grammatical errors as I accept there are bound to be some. Know I try and that I am, and know, I'm not freaking Tolkien, and not a perfect writer. Some people assume that since I write for fun I assume I'm the best. I don't I just wanna explore my crazy ideas and imagination. So yeah...ahem, anyways I'd love to hear what you all thought and what you liked or didn't like. I'm open to it as long as it doesn't go to unnecessary flame territory. Until the next guys! :D


	3. The Shadows of the Past

**Chapter ****T****hree****: ****The Shadows of the Past**

Náthena and the captain of Gondor had rode most of the second day since their fated meeting in silence. She had for the most part remained walking. Boromir often offered, and even pleaded that the lady take up the saddle of the horse once more. Yet, she would smile and kindly decline. She could still sense a weariness in the man. He indeed must have walked for many days after losing his steed. A fact he seemed quite uninterested to speak of.

That day had passed. Now had once more come the night, and glittering sea of stars that hung over all of Arda. From Middle-Earth to distant Aman and to Hyarmenor in the south beyond the sea. Dead tired, but fed and content, Eldamel rested just beyond the two. They say around a small fire as they hunkered down and nestled themselves into a small grove hidden amongst the tall tress, and green leaves along the northern road.

The crackling of the flame and its embers rising and disappearing into the cool night air was all there was for a great time. It was an uneasy silence for the Gondorian captain as he endlessly eyed Náthena and her beyond odd physical appearance and features. She sat with legs crossed before her and head tilted toward the skies and stars. Her eyelids closed, and an ever small contented and even serene smile played on her; just as pail as the rest of her, lips.

Until she finally sighed. As if completing some ritual, and opened those crimson eyes of hers. They burned and gleamed ever clearer as the fire danced within them. She smiled slightly more, and cocked her head to the side. Which brought her single braid falling along her back.

"If so curious, Boromir of Gondor, then speak your mind!" She smirked, and Boromir chuckled awkwardly as he idly threw twigs and stray leaves into the flames. He sat opposite of her from the flames with legs slightly spread out before his sitting form.

"I do not mean to be rude and stare milady Náthena. It is hard I dare admit." He admitted with another smile.

"The world you spoke of lingers within my thoughts! It is a quite terrible tale you mentioned before, and in my weariness of wandering I think it took me some time to appreciate what your words fully meant." His words rung with truth and Náthena bowed her head.

"It is natural." She wisely spoke. "Those who do not wish to hear of ill or fell tidings, oft find they can attune themselves to blocking such words and thoughts from mind. Though," She smiled still. "Those who are tired, and have questions of their own lingering in their own minds may find hearing some strangers ill news...frustrating. Though from the moment I landed onto these old shores, I have felt, seen, heard, and experienced myself, ill news and dark tidings along this continent." Boromir sighed, and nodded. His near shoulder length brown hair falling about him. Some of it matted and dirty as his eyes went into distant thoughts for a moment.

"It is true. The darkness has once again taken the heart of Middle-Earth and stands ready to cease opportunities missed before. My father, the Steward of Gondor, is an honorable man! Though he asks much of me, but even more from my younger brother. Though I would even find it appropriate to say he demands much of our people." His expression was dark and worried for a moment.

"The shadows in the east linger heavily on him. Mordor, their allies both in the east and south, and perhaps elsewhere even. It is my people who bear the full force of this burden! Though none elsewhere would ever admit to it." Boromir sighed again and his hands became idle and clasped together in front of himself. He lowered his head further until it seemed to just hang at his chest.

This was the first real moment he and Náthena had, had a conversation since their first meeting. Her expression turned to a sideways one. Náthena found herself not wanting this talk to end so hastily. So, Náthena leaned herself forward some, and cocked her head in vain effort to peer into the face of the forlorn captain.

"Tell me what you can of Sauron." Boromir glanced up with a furrowed expression. Náthena merely smiled. "I wish to know more of the man that so brings anger and venom from my old mistress." He nodded after a moment of thought.

"For my part I can say he is no 'man,' so to speak. Anyone with eyes can see that, yet I know what you meant in your words. For thousands of years he has plagued the world. Through all the ages, and now more than ever is he poised to accomplish a great victory over the last great kingdoms of men, elves and even the dwarves." His expression became subtly hard again. "Far be it for any of them to take notice, or care! Better still for Gondor, or Rohan to bear these burdens alone." He nearly spat those words. Náthena began to sense how proud, and indeed angry, this man Boromir was.

'_No, not anger. Fear. He is very afraid_.' She came to realize in an instant thereafter.

"The elves make for the western shores to places we men cannot follow. The dwarves? They linger within their homes of stone. Within mountains, and caves. Where they worry themselves with riches and trade. Rather than Sauron and the hordes that spill out of Mordor. Little has my kingdom, and my people known peace. You would find but two types of people within the walls of Minas Tirith. Those who cannot say they've lived a year without war in their lives. War, pain, sorrow, and misery."

"And the other type, my lord?" Náthena cocked her brow, and Boromir's eyes finally lit once more in mirth, and he chuckled.

"Well, my lady, those would be what we call liars!" Náthena took a moment to dwell on his words as he began to chuckle further and with more power behind it. Until at last she understood his morbid joke, and she grinned in reply and leaned herself back against a tree trunk near to her.

"I see." She spoke with a hint of lingering humor. "Then it was true what I felt when I neared the white city." Boromir looked to her quizzically. "I felt great pain, and...weakness." She quickly added then, "Not of your people, my lord Boromir, for I met none. But of those lands. Of their hearts, and spirits." She leaned back again and seemed to stare off into the distant and pitch black forest surroundings.

"It is not for me to come and judge those who live on these lands. It is my duty to seek those with courage, arms, strength, and conviction. Those with these properties could dare rise against the Sin-Queen, and her hordes." Náthena grimly smirked.

"Ironic as it is, the one who seems ready to challenge her is but Sauron himself! A bleak notion indeed." Boromir's eyes became hardened, but he said nothing. Náthena mused for a moment he may have taken offense to her small jest, but she dared not ask. She didn't wish to press him.

The crackle of the fire was all that went heard for a time as they sat. Both of them went within their own thoughts. The creaks in the woods and whipping winds being the only mild interruptions to their silence otherwise. Until finally a breath left from the captain and he turned up toward Náthena.

"How about you tell me of your homeland?" He asked with a tinge of wonder in his voice. Náthena jerked up with a shocked expression. As if the sound of his voice was unexpected, and maybe it had been to her ears. She turned slightly and seemed enraptured in a patch of dirt off to the side of the fire pit. Her crimson eyes seemed far away and she slightly smiled.

"The land is wondrous. Untouched mostly by war and death. Little of the woods go touched, save for the silent footfalls of my kin who wonder and seek oneness with the earth. It was by our first and great King that the forests were deemed to not go touched. Unless the dire need was brought forth. This was of course dictated by my mistress nonetheless. She came to our king when the need was great, and bent his troubles and twisted his desperation into something ugly. Something that she could control." Náthena turned back to Boromir, who nodded in understanding.

"We have a sprawling range of ceaseless mountains. All of them capped in sparkling white that glitter when the heat of the sun falls upon them. Rolling hills with the greenest of grass! Blue, as blue as one could imagine waters for lakes, with sprawling and vast amounts of fish." She smiled, and her eyes glittered. "I must admit I find weakness when the smell of those little creatures being cooked meets my nose." She giggled and Boromir grinned at the sound. Her face slowly turned back to calmness and she sighed.

"Massive trees," She seemed to carry on without regard to Boromir. "Tall as mountains one would think if lost within them. Their tops a glorious green, their bark solid and strong. Then comes the fall and winter seasons. Where we take sight to the rainbow of colors of our woodlands, and the bitter colds where they wither and become spiked tendrils sprouting from the soil. Until then spring comes and the blossoming flowers and leaves breaths new life into the land!" Boromir imagined it within his mind, and assuredly the land sounded beautiful as she described it. And yet, he was sure he did it disservice with his imagination.

"These trees," Once more her head jerked back toward Boromir with an old and knowing smile along her features. "they're called Míthlend trees! They bloom but only for three weeks and they rest high in the branches among the green leaves, which of course stay for months. But then they begin to fall! The petals a wondrous bloom of pink that fall like waves in the waters down to the ground. The whipping winds that come down from the mountains raise them and circle them! One could be caught and encased by them!" She grinned, and Boromir chuckled. He seemed for a moment to be listening to a child found in wonder at the sight of something they had never seen before, and so desperately wished to share their vision. Even if her eyes spoke of age that he found himself lost in if he looked too long into them.

"The petals, are left to fall and we to take the sights in. Those of us at least who can. Some are too far from the wood. Sadly they are then taken up and gathered. They have great healing properties about them, that we have yet to understand. Only the priests of the Great Temple know how to drain them of their power." Boromir's brow furrowed and he cocked his head.

"A temple? Of whom is worshiped within this temple?" The light in her eyes seemed to fade, and dim, and she reclined further back. A sense of dread hung in the air about them, and even Boromir felt a creeping feeling tingle along his back. Yet he had not heard what she had to say.

"Why, it is to Morgoth. The one whom gave my mistress the queen, the supreme power to rule us all." Boromir felt his eyes go wide for a moment, and forced himself to recall her fell words from their first meeting. The mere mention of the Dark One gave chill to his heart and a moan to the winds. To know this land of beauty she spoke of, had upon it a temple to his vileness hit him as a trampling horse would.

She saw his dismay, and humphed with a sigh. "It took us little time to realize the honey spewed from her mouth was nothing but sweet venom. For our queen gave dark slithering advice to our two and only kings we've ever known. Until then she had corrupted us all from those forms we once had, and we gave her power, and begged for her rule." Náthena raised her arm forward over the fire.

"Our skin was once fair, more so than even yours Gondorian. I have only heard tails from the eldest of my kin, but they speak of the days when our tones were fairer than the clouds. An exaggeration I must only assume, but I know what they mean. For our queen still bears that flesh of purity though she is most vile of us all! We were blind, and in that blindness we became corrupt. A fact she seemed most pleased with. Many time she spoke of our beauty, and changed nature. Blood colored eyes, ashen skin like soot from a volcanic maw, and hair gray or white as death." Náthena lowered her arm, and ran her right hand idly along her hair down her braid.

"She promised us salvation from those invaders, the men of Númenor. Then she killed us from within." Náthena did not spit venom. Her voice was droning, low, and almost apathetic. She spoke of fact, and little of feeling. It made Boromir feel a tinge of guilt, and yet he knew not why.

"You speak of your mistress, as queen, and Sin-Queen. I cannot recall if you have given me her name? If you indeed have my lady than I apologize for my weakness of memory." He chuckled with a kind smile, and Náthena bowed her head.

"By a few she has let be known to me, and those who worked closely with her. Her ancient name she said to me was Vóriselyë. Then she came to us in her second, and far more true name. Úcarëtári, and from that one can translate its meaning. That of Sin-Queen. Of sin she brought to the hearts of those who laid eyes on her, and of sins she made them commit in her name, and that of Morgoth." Boromir's eyes looked sad and he nodded solemnly as Náthena grew silent but for a moment.

"She does not like being called by either of these names any longer. She has had those foolish enough to utter either before her presence sent into the foul pits beneath the temple. She now is known as Queen Calyacále. In her own words she says its meaning is akin to 'illuminating light,' or something of similar description. It is nothing but a lie, but she is an expert of lies." Náthena spat, her mouth forming a frown, and her memories playing of the vision of the Queen.

"Calyacále? Certainly the name sounds well and good off the tongue." Boromir agreed. Náthena darkly nodded while her gaze was distant.

"What else has this Sin-Queen done to gain your ire, lady?" Náthena finally seemed broken from her musings, and sighed lowly.

"When she came to us, as I have said my people were in need. Men of Númenor came and they sought to make a colony. They found us, and we offered peace, but they demanded land and tribute. They saw our people as no more than barbarians as the wild men who lived upon the continent were also seen. Whatever kindness and good there may have been within these men seemed sundered by greed and power. They slew our people and the barbarian men." She uttered darkly and Boromir felt an odd sense of shame fall over him though he knew not why. His heart sank at her words nonetheless.

"She took advantage of our plight and ceased the opportunity. She taught us war, and how to forge mighty weapons. Gave us deeper insight to magic and sorcery. She delved deep into the dark caves and pits of our land and found serpents, and from them she made warped creatures. They serve her with utter loyalty above even my own people and they are many." Boromir cocked his head.

"What are these creatures?" Náthena grimaced.

"Lócënossë they are called. Serpent people. They were ugly little creatures at first. The first stock of my queen's creations were short, not even dwarf size as I know them to be. They were ugly and bent, misshapen and endlessly viscous and violent. She sent them and the eldest of my people to wage war and slaughter the men of Númenor in their colony. She came along with and put utter terror into their hearts and minds, and the men were broken. Their fleets burned and city made to smoldering ruin." Náthena squirmed uncomfortably and her head began to hurt as she recalled these dark thoughts for Boromir who sat with great interest and silence abut his figure.

"The first of the creatures died but days after. Their little bodies and corrupted forms could not weather their new forms and lives. It was then that she threw herself into her sorcery and evil beneath the Great Temple. Only then when our first king died, and his son came to rule, did she show him what those like myself already had seen. She had perfected her serpents." Náthena seethed. "Now they stand most of them taller than men. Their eyes hideous diamonds, and piercing ever squinting and hate and wrath. Their scales refined across their bodies, and dark gray armor uniformly fit across their bodies. She made them to be not but a mere rabble, but a uniformed, refined, and completely loyal force. Not even talking of the fell creatures that she bred to aid the Lócënossë." Náthena gazed darkly toward Boromir.

"These creatures know only loyalty to her and none others. They listen to my kin only because she has told them to, and they will march upon your lands in time. They will burn all that stand against them. Be it Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Orc! That is why I came. To try and warn those on these lands of the darkness that is rising in the far south and across the sea." She saddened and frowned, her brow furrowing in worry. Her dark features seeming even more gray and dead as the deepening feeling of defeat fell across her. It almost felt contagious to Boromir, who felt his heart grow sad and loathing. The vision of Mordor, and wild imaginary visions of man sized lizards killing men filled his mind! The tale was so tall he swore it to be but a dream, a nightmare even, but his heart told him it was true. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"None have seen Calyacále in many decades." She cut in and Boromir jerked his attention back to her and away from bis deeply rooted worries.

"She went away on some great mission that her servants such as myself, as I had once been," She sneered inwardly. "and her generals knew not where she made to go to. She left a vile servant of hers in command of all the Kingdom. He is ruthless as he is absolutely loyal like the vile serpents. She named him Warlord of all us Moriquendi, and Keeper of the Onyx Throne. That dark and terrible throne being hers and that which our monarch sits upon. His accursed name is Núndreníl." She explained and Boromir nodded. His mind forming for an instant the dark seat his father sits upon in Minas Tirith.

"No one really knows where he came from. He was but a nobody of a general that operated in the deep south of the continent. Where it is said he found and enslaved a whole nation of barbarian men who had just begun forming realms of their own." Náthena recalled. "He returned and bore with him thousands of slaves. And with him came hundreds of thousands of Lócënossë. He was greeted with great joy and thunderous applause by Calyacále. He was then granted his titles, and lordship over all the southern lands. He took command of the Kingdom upon our queen's order, and she has not been seen since. It was at her leaving our people, those who called ourselves the 'Purified Ones,' sought to free our nation and the slaves of their bondage!" She sadly cried and a tone of loathing lay rising from her chest.

"We grew in number, reaching tens of thousands and we marched upon her capital. The city of Calandoth. The Great Temple sitting upon the Hill of Darkness I had long since abandoned after learning all I could, and the horrors of my mistresses workings. It lay before us, and her palace in the distance. We were so close!" Boromir grew greatly interested once again. He found his weakness in talks of battle and war rising in him as his imagination formed for him vast plains of glorious warriors fighting against these serpentine monsters.

"Núndreníl came upon his steed and led an army of hundreds of thousands of the Lócënossë. He had in reserve fifty thousand of my kin who were thought loyal to Calyacále, but then they turned and we squeezed the serpents and Núndreníl nearly back to the walls of Calandoth!" her expression turned then from memories of near victory and great joy to moody darkness and scorn. Her crimson eyes bitterly glaring into the darkness of night.

"Then came the war beasts I spoke of. I shall not say what they appear as, needless be explained that they look like their relatives. The vile Lócënossë. We call them Ûnilìm, and they charged my lines, killed all the host and before the end the my people could see that power rested in Calyacále alone, and we were hunted down. I am the last of the Purified, and I am alone." She sadly muttered, and Boromir frowned. Over the fire he gingerly reached his hand and clasped hers lowly sitting on her knees.

"You're not alone, my lady Náthena! Though I know truly little of your struggles and of the darkness of this queen of yours, I can promise you that, if we can, Gondor will see aid given to your noble cause!" Náthena weakly smiled and bowed her head. Free graying locks about her darkened skin falling about her face.

"I thank you, Boromir of Gondor. I can only hope you and your people remain long enough to indeed help me. For little did I know of the sufferings of these lands. Now that I have come, I can see, and no less feel the terror, and dread that befalls these lands. Sauron truly must first be destroyed if there is any hope in stopping Calyacále." Boromir grinned happily and raised his hands happily.

"Then we are once more in agreement! We both shall share our enemies, and defeat them together my lady. Before my lord Elrond we shall speak of our woes and my riddle, and with his guidance we may yet have planted before us an answer to our troubles and irking questions." She smiled faintly, but again nodded. The man's words warming her heart even if slightly.

"Truly you are a blessing, my lord Boromir. For before your coming I had all but abandoned hope that these lands bore any hope of resistance. Now I can see that strength yet remains in the hearts and spirits of men." He grinned and bowed his head, his locks falling freely about his shoulders.

"You honor me, my lady." He laughed and sighed as the fire continued to crack and burn before them both. A silence passed over them both and neither said anything for a few moments, before Boromir failed to stifle a yawn.

"Ah, alas my lady I fear the day has waned my strength." Náthena smirked.

"Sleep my friend. I shall rest myself soon. At the mornings light we may move on toward this Elrond you speak of. My excitement is not so powerful yet as to stave off all weariness from my eyes." She smiled, and Boromir chuckled as he planted himself down upon a small mat of simple cloth he had been using to sleep upon.

"Aye, then I shall rest, and postpone our journey north no longer." He wearily chuckled and Náthena wordlessly nodded as she closed her eyes. Visions plagued her of battlefields and death. Pits of the Great temple, and her lady's face smiling directly toward her as if in a mirror. Her cruel grin nearly feeling infectious save for the glint of malice in her glittering eyes.

Never had Boromir asked, and yet to be said to him what and who she truly had been when she fought against the armies of the Sin-Queen, and she dared not say. Though he had heard her say she had been in her service, she was glad that either he was far too enraptured in her tale or too tired to dare let questions pass from his lips. She worried that all the fleeting hope that now grew in her heart would be stricken from her, and that she could not allow!

That is what she told herself with great passion as her weariness swept her away to fell and foul visions of distant lands, cracked fortresses and fires of war.

* * *

**The First Age**

"I think she knows not what she is really doing, master. Indeed she is rather...childish in nature." Within the pits and darkness of Angband Sauron spoke as he stood before a terrible throne of blackness. His form was fair, his long blackened hair was unnaturally ebony black and hung low across his broad yet smooth shoulders. His face was etched into a vision of beauty beyond that of mere mortal kind. His eyes were a terrible gray that pierced through flesh and soul and could bring low the haughtiest of men or elves.

Yet before him was a far more terrible force and vision. It was a terribly tall figure, greater than he. Robed in blackness and armor of cold steel that seemed scorched yet to a fine make itself. A crown was atop his head from which fell his own black locks that freely hung in perfection to his own designs. Upon this crown burned bright three jewels that even from afar made Sauron nearly have to squint in their glory. An air of hatred, and unkempt malice billowed out forth to all who dared to near he who bore this crown. Save but a few of the endless that waylay his patience. One of those few was indeed Sauron.

"Little do I care what her manner be or not be Mairon." The voice was a terrible boom that shook the walls in thunderous power. Sauron felt a small frown cross his lips. He desired very little to be called by that name which had been his among the Ainur so long passed. The great and black figure stood along the steps to his grand throne. The halls beyond screamed in pain and power all at once, as heat of a hot furnace danced across them both. Angband was alive and ever was it preparing for conquest and death.

"I care only if she yearns to aid in unmaking that which was made. Be it by Eru or by that contemptuous fool Manwë." His tone was a seethe but so terribly low that it would send ice into the veins and heart of those who heard and better still, felt his wrath emanate forth from his terrible yet serene maw. His booted feet slammed down on the steps to his throne as he walked slowly and turned to meet the eyes of Sauron.

"She shall serve me well, and our purpose." He declared with absolute and firm conviction. Sauron hesitated and opened his mouth to speak, but found his words failing. Until finally he cleared his throat and gathered his strength into his spirit once more.

"Master, the 'woman' is a foolish maia. I do not think she quite fully even understands what we mean to do." Sauron took a tentative step forward. "I think she believes your desires to be the unmaking of all life in Middle-Earth and a return to some infantile notion of peace and perfection about Endor."

"Is that not our purpose, Mairon?" He glared towards his lieutenant with a frown along his terrible features. Sauron steeled himself and craned his neck and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not precisely as to how she would describe our purpose. Your will master is the undoing of the...'failings,' of the Aratar and of Eru. To reforge it in a more...perfect state. What this maia believes you to be undertaking is a return to a state of perfection based on the will of Eru and the workings of the Aratar before the coming of Eru's children. It is a silly notion, as I have said." Sauron reiterated. Before him his master's eyes flared and he scoffed before climbing the steps a few more further, but stopping once more.

"Immature as her notions may be, Mairon, she will come to know our purpose. If not then she will serve little purpose but enough still to garner me but one further follower and spit in the eyes of Manwë or Eru. So trivial as it may seem to one such as you, to steal but one more maia from under the nose of those cretins from afar is a victory in and of itself. Whether she knows what she does or not, as I have told you, is meaningless to me." Sauron could see his master's reasoning, but he found this newcomer to be more of nuisance than aid, and she had been here but for a few days.

"Master, I seek thy forgiveness, but she would prove more a hindrance than an aid. She carries an air of immaturity befitting a child of one of the children of Eru! She knows nothing of war, she dances on the grass like a newborn maia!"

"Enough!" His master rumbled the room shook in terrible wrath. Sauron felt his form thrown back slightly and he threw his arms out to withstand the coming of a terrible wind that thrust him backwards. He sneered as his head lay out of sight of his master, and quickly he put forth onto his face a mask of serene tranquility as he looked back to his master.

He bore down upon Sauron before he traveled the rest of the length of his steps and sat himself upon his throne in content. He rolled his terribly massive shoulders, and sighed as if he had become bored with his lieutenants droning.

"Be her a child, be her a witless coward and worm I shall take this child as you say from the bosom of her mother and shadow of her father, and twist her to be an engine of destruction for my own purposes!" His master declared with a thunder in his terrible tone, and Sauron lowered his head in a bow and acquiesce to his will.

"How delicious it is..." Sauron paused in his turn to leave as his master's voice went on. "..that this maia come from the service of Lady Varda." His face bore a twisted smirk as his eyes danced in some far off vision that Sauron dared not attempt to fathom within his own mind.

"Oh how foolish it was of she to deny me, Mairon. For that suckling whelp of a brother of my own. A mighty Kingdom I would have made with a queen worthy of my stature." He sighed, but it was highly feigned and reeked of scorn and contempt.

"So then shall I take one of her handmaidens and make her into a vision of terrible, and beautiful malice and destruction. To tear into the heart of her and her trust for those beneath her. As I have done for Aulë with you, my dear Mairon." He smirked with a terrible resolve of ill gratification, and then laughed with a baritone of ear piercing power. Before he threw his left arm outwards and upwards. Shooing away his top lieutenant.

Sauron made to leave, but paused once more.

"See to her Mairon! Make my will be done upon this child!" He called and Sauron did not turn back. He frowned and a sneer spread along his features as he made from his new Lord's throne. Sauron made beyond the gates to the throne where stood two Balrog's. Both burning and fuming with fire and power who bowed only slightly at his passing. For the lieutenant of Melkor dared to not see his master's will be done.

He marched thru the endless winding halls of black and dirty seeming metal. Its points and jutting malice screaming to those who dared tread that this was no place of joy or mirth, but of vile wickedness. Hobbling and crooked little orcs passed by him and sidestepped him, for he was just below the commanding might of their lord Melkor. Sauron found them to be disgusting and vilely beneath he or his masters service. Yet never did Melkor see the need to make better these little creatures. To make perfect these little creatures from the little weak thralls they currently were.

He knew that given time he could remake these orcs into a viscous and far greater form that would do better at serving himself...and of course his lord. Yet he frowned and his brow furrowed in anger. For ever did his master remain fixed on perfecting those serpents. To give them wings and fire. It was a foolish errand! So Sauron believed. But, never would he dare to speak as such.

He sighed and felt his spirit sing as he neared his charge. Before him lay a gate leading to the east of Angband. Beside the door, with arms folded over his mighty chest of flames stood Gothmog. His terrible demonic grin never ceasing upon his horned and burning figure.

"The master wishes me to take charge of this one. She may pass freely beyond these halls and into our domains. See that none of yours hinder her in these things." Sauron commanded and Gothmog flared his skeletal nostrils, and a great heat escaped from within.

"I shall heed the master's commandments, Sauron. See to it that she does not hinder I nor mine and my kinds movements or actions. Be they their own or the master's will!" The thundering voice of the maia replied, and both the lieutenants of Melkor glared at the other, before a single bow of their heads came to one another. And, silently Gothmog stomped his way away from the gate and Sauron.

He had the gate opened by a mass of bumbling ugly creatures who toiled to pull the chains and open the iron maw. Sauron skirted under the gate as it rose and saved himself and the little goblins time as he exited, and the gate slammed shut at their weakness of strength. He made his way down steep inclines and falls until he came before the smallest and most dim patch of green and life that remained nearest to the Hells of Iron. A single dying tree, upon a small patch of yellowing decaying grass with but specks of green in both tree and grass.

The night had fallen and the stars in the sky were glittering brightly and ever. Sauron looked up toward them and mutely noted them as he neared this small bout of green. Beneath the one tree was a figure. She was fair, fair as any of his kind were. Beyond the imaginations of mortal kind be they elf, man or whatever else may be birthed into the world. Her hair of sparkling silver lined with stray strands and long locks of pure gold, or so it seemed. Her skin was fair and gleaming even glittering in its perfection, as her eyes shown in both the light of the stars made by Varda, and whatever power lay behind her eyes. For they too glittered as if the stars of Varda were behind them. She wore but a simple and loose white cloth that accentuated her small frame and beautiful figure. It was enough, Sauron would have wagered to ensnare any foolish elf or mortal man.

Of course such carnal lusts were beneath him. Still he appreciated the figure she had taken onto herself. No doubt her immense beauty was born from being a maiden to Lady Varda. Most fair of them all.

"My lord Mairon!" She cried as he came into sight before her. She ceased her dancing and jumping about, once again seeming a child before him. She broke into a run, and Sauron felt his eyes go wide, and he made to stop her, but it was too late. Her frame slammed against him in his fine clothing and her arms wrapped around his neck. A giggle of mirth escaped from her lips and Sauron was left groaning as he timidly patted her back before she finally freed him from the unwanted embrace.

"Vóriselyë. You mustn't do that. In these lands and among those of our thought it is unwanted, unwarranted and some would say dangerous." She pursed her lips and her brow furrowed, and ever did Sauron see a child looking up at him. Then she smiled brightly and her eyes dance in starlight.

"Okay! Sorry I was just so excited to see you! The stars, they glitter and gleam so wonderfully this night." She looked up and Sauron nodded as she grinned wildly.

"Oh, how my Lady makes the finest gems in all of creation! Even above those elves who say otherwise." She wrinkled her nose, and Sauron did not doubt the image of Fëanorcame to her mind. Though a thin smile crawled along his own features as he recalled his death not too long ago.

"Yes of course my lady." Sauron placated her. "I have com bearing...good news." She perked up and looked into his gray eyes with a hopeful glint. "Melkor will welcome you graciously into his service." She laughed triumphantly and fell into a fit of giggles and began once more prancing and dancing under the stars in utter joy. Sauron forced himself to not sigh.

"Vóriselyë." His voice was commanding but low, and she stopped. "If you'd please." She took a moment but then her eyes widened in understanding and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Yes sorry." Sauron nodded and moved to stand under the tree. She silently followed after and stood next to him as his arms folded over one another and he glared distantly outwards over the vastness that lay before Angband.

"These plants, and the tree, the grass it is all very sadly dying! How unfortunate. My Lady Yavanna would be so saddened! As am I." She intoned sadly as her bare feet moved across the dying plants. Sauron gruffly chuckled.

"If so much care you have for plants and trees, or the wilds of these lands, why then did you not come into Yavanna's service rather than Varda?" She frowned sadly.

"I did go to her! I made myself and my powers readily available for her, and toiled for her for many years, but then..." She trailed off and Sauron raised one of his brows inquisitively.

"Then?" She looked at him almost bashfully.

"I don't know! She told me one day that my services were better spent under Lady Varda. I hadn't wanted to leave Yavanna's service, but...I guess she didn't want me anymore." Tears were near to her eyes and Sauron stifled yet a greater groan. For his work was to be cut out for this fallen maia.

"It is of little importance, my lady. What is important now is that you are with us. We shall make good use of you and your...skills." Sauron intoned as he eyed her in a sideways glance. She smiled and seemed pleased by his words.

"Let us speak of those upon Valinor any further. I have been given command by Melkor to prepare you for what lay ahead."

"I'm ready!" She cried in protest and Sauron merely shook his head lightly.

"I very much doubt that, my dear. What would one such as you know of war? Indeed beyond those small glimpses granted to you by Eru upon the making of this world through the music. I think you know little, and of this there can be little helping." He waved her off as she began to purse her lips into another pout.

"What is war to you Vóriselyë?"

"I...fighting?" She asked rather than stated, and Sauron sighed.

"Indeed. But in a manner that I am more than sure you are unused to. From what I know of you, from those among us who have heard of you; I know that you came late onto the Earth. Not too late as to not be able to aid Yavanna and Varda so it would seem. Yet not long enough to see the Battle of the Powers so it would seem." She huffed.

"I knew about it! I just...didn't leave Aman. I've been on this soil for a long time Mairon."Sauron grumbled lowly, but took her at her word and bowed his head.

"Nonetheless you have much to learn, my lady. And, I shall be your...tutor. For war has a tendency of breaking one at first, but it's how you're reshaped afterward that makes you truly ready for the trials ahead." She eyed him for a moment, before she smiled and nodded.

"I'm willing to do whatever I can! The creations of my ladies Varda and Yavanna, and all those who shaped this Earth should not be sullied by the children! If war is the only way to save it, then I'll do it." She declared with complete conviction and Sauron nodded once more. He then began moving away from the hill, and turned back toward her when she did not follow.

"Come, my lady." She cocked her head and followed after in what seemed more like gliding than walking. Sauron began walking once more and she followed.

"Where are we going Mairon?" He stifled his ever more irritated growls from rising from his throat and rolled his shoulders as the descended from the blackened hills that kept secure Angband about the mountains.

"We go to find ourselves a bit of sport. A small enclave of Ñoldor have been spotted in the south, and should be under the thumb of our forces in no time. It shall be where you see what war entails, and decide then if what you truly wish to do is remain here and fight under the banner of our lord Melkor." She hardened herself and attempted to seem strong before Sauron.

"I'll be more than ready. You'll see Mairon." She smiled and Sauron only nodded as he led her down to the steps of the hills and mountains. Where they would make for this encampment of elves. And where Sauron would introduce to Vóriselyë true war.

* * *

**The Third Age**

Náthena awoke from a sleep she hadn't planned on. The light of the distant sun shone bright and hot through the trees and leaves. The wind blew and rustled the woods where she and the Gondorian captain had made camp. She rubbed with one hand her weary eyes and felt the weariness vanish quickly thereafter.

It was only then as she scanned the camp, and noted the lack of fire, that she also found no Boromir to be seen. Her brow furrowed and she turned in haste towards Eldamel. The horse was yet still where she had left him. His head picked up quizzically at her sudden moves. She only smiled and patted his nose. The horse leaned into her touch and seemed saddened as she rose from where she had sat and stretched herself.

Her black clothing was still stained in blood of men and droplets of orcs. Dirty and stained they were, and ever clearer in the light of day. She paid it little heed, however, and was glad so did Boromir. Even if she did catch him eye a clearer stain along her cloak on a previous day.

Yet, as she mused on such thoughts her ears caught sounds of rustling and grunting in the distance. She froze and turned her head toward the sounds beyond. Her crimson eyes narrowed and she snatched up her bow and quiver of arrows. She bent herself low and feel quickly and silently along the grass, fallen green leaves, and twigs about the foliage. She bade Eldamel to remain in her native tongue and the horse seemed most inclined to listen as she passed through a thicket brimming with obscuring lush branches.

As she came thru to the other side she paused and listened further. Indeed the grunts and chortles sounded familiar. It didn't take her long to realize what they were.

"Orcs? Ever should those nasty little creatures trouble me." She seethed in a low intone her accented drawl in Westron quite evident as she did so.

"Indeed." She turned right and spotted Boromir. The man beckoned her to lowered and near. She crouched and neared to where he lay prone along a small hill that overlooked the valley and main road down below.

"Far these orcs must have come from."

"How far is 'far,' my lord?" She questioned as they exchanged words in but whispers. Boromir sighed and craned his head in thought.

"Perhaps the Misty Mountains, but they seem a little less fearful of the morning sun. The mountain orcs have not seen the sun in years I would dare to say. These seem familiar with its light. Perhaps of Gundabad, but even still they lay within that mountain hole." He spat with a distinct sense of disdain for this place he spoke of.

"The Ettenmoors! They may yet have come from there. I have heard they mingle with the trolls that yet live there." Náthena nodded, as her eyes trained on the company of raiders. They were yet larger and taller than those she had met in Gondor west of the river Anduin. They had long and wild hair about them. Matted to their greasy and filthy faces and armor. They snorted and growled with heavy barrel shaped chests. They bore simple black armor here and there, and the larger ones liked to smack around the one or two smaller ones with them.

One of them seemed to be quite keen on smelling the air about the road, and Náthena sneered as she imagined it picking up her and Boromir's scents.

"Wherever they may have come from, it is best we be rid of them quickly. Before they may call to any of their comrades. If indeed there be any at all."

"Best not to take chances?" Boromir asked though it was a redundant one and with what was best described as a cocky grin along his face. Náthena nodded nonetheless.

"Well then, best leave this to me milady. I shall handle this scourge myself!" Boromir declared with an air of inflated chivalry, and Náthena cocked one of her white brows. She made to speak, but Boromir beat her.

"Never should a lady be forced into battle whilst a captain of Gondor is about! Wait here, my lady Náthena." And, with that he dove up and over the small hill. Náthena seethed and made to grab his shoulder but he made down the hill and drew his long sword with a hum of blade against sheath.

A growl escaped from her throat as she lowered herself into a crouch and shook her head.

"Chivalry is no excuse for foolhardiness!" She seethed again and watched as Boromir came before the orc troupe. The large one grunted and turned quickly with massive broadswords with single curved points at the top inwards toward themselves, at the ready. The small ones squealed and also turned toward Boromir. Some held blackened bows and arrows at the ready in kind.

"Halt foul creatures!" Boromir came to a stop and grabbed his large sword with both hands upon the hilt. Náthena realized there he had not taken, or even forgotten his shield!

"I haven't the slightest clue why your foul kind has come this west, but you will go no further!" Boromir declared with an uproarious bout of chortling meeting him in reply by the orcs. The smaller sniveling ones snickered and the larger ones bellowed their laughs. It gave Náthena flashbacks.

"I don't have to listen to you!" A large and quite pronounced orc declared and smashed his shoulders into his fellows to pass them by from behind them. He neared Boromir and growled with a large underbite about his face and piercing beady eyes.

"All I sees here is one stinking man! What's stopping me from gutting you eh?" The orcs clamored and roared as the large one threw his sword up onto his shoulder and grinned toward Boromir.

"You face no mere peasant orc! I am Boromir, and I am a captain of Gondor!" He announced, and seemed to think that would strike terror into their hearts based on his proud glare of victory. The orc hushed his companions a lot more effectively than the last captain Náthena had met did.

"Eh? You come a bit too far me thinks, Gondorian filth. Your titles and big sword there ain't mean nothing to me or me boys! I'll gut ya' like I gut me a stuck pig, or farmers and their pretty wives." he paused and craned his neck as a thought came to him and he snorted with a laugh.

"Better yet I'll gut ya like a farmers kids! Squeal real loud those ones do!" The orcs roared in mirth and agreement and some sense of memory about them all. Boromir growled and hatred suddenly came over him as he heard them take pleasure in such foul stories. He clasped his sword tightly along the hilt.

"Then you shall know the wrath of Gondor!" he cried and flew forward against the large orc. He in kind laughed and threw his free arm forward. Unleashing his small thrall against Boromir. The large ones charged past their commander and toward Boromir.

Boromir ducked as one made to slash his head and he slashed into that one's exposed hip and dug deep sending black blood flying. It howled angrily and fell over. Boromir slashed right and across the neck of a second who slumped back into two of his fellow orcs.

The captain then threw both arms back and then slammed forward. His sword pierced thru into one of the orcs and he fell limp on the sword. His weight was heavy and nearly took Boromir with him, but the Gondorian slammed his boot into the dead creature and pushed him off just in time. For two more orc fell upon him and Boromir sidestepped but nearly fell against a small boulder.

A smaller orc squealed and jumped at Boromir's exposed right and onto the man's shoulder. Boromir cried out as it sought to bite at his neck. He threw himself about in a circle and tried to force the small creature off of himself.

A large orc slammed his shoulder against Boromir and sent him along with the small orc falling into the grass and dirt. Boromir nonetheless growled and clasped his left hand onto the neck of the little orc and threw him with all his might away from where they lay.

He made to get up but the man groaned as a heavy metal boot hit his chest and kept him against the ground. A large orc snarled and grinned at him from above. His blackened and oily features twisting in glee as he raised his broadsword high over his head and made to slash down upon Boromir. The captain felt his pulse race and his right hand dug into the grass next to it searching for his sword.

A small hum rang through the air, and then the orc froze. A dumbfounded and glassy look about his beady eyes, and an arrow clear through his head. Out one side and through the other. It was black and notched at the pointed end with fine metal. The orc grumbled and fell over dead. Boromir cried a little in shock before he rolled away from the dead orc, grasped his sword and jumped up at the ready to fight.

The orcs, however, were not looking to him. Rather they turned toward the hill where the arrow had come from. Boromir allowed his eyes to follow their and he found Náthena standing atop the hill. Her silver hair shone in the daylight and her dark skin contrasted almost enchantingly with it. She seemed a terrible beauty to behold. With another arrow notched and ready to fire, and a hateful glare in her crimson eyes visible even from this distance. One of her legs was fully atop the hill and the other hung back behind it.

"Dare another of you to meet thy doom? I shall bring it quickly upon all of you should you make to attack my comrade again!" Boromir felt a small, and bit of embarrassment come upon it. For one thing a woman...well elf woman had just saved his life. For another he hadn't thought her ready to fight but a moment ago. And, thirdly he felt a sense of new found camaraderie for her as she spoke of him in the same manner.

"Oi! What we have here?! You got yourself a wench to save your hide gondorian?" Boromir sneered, but before he could speak Náthena cut him off.

"And what have thee? Nothing but words? I dare to say you feel need to compensate with so mighty a sword, but so little action?" Náthena smirked from afar and her eyes gleamed in humor. The orc snarled as his manhood and pride took offense and he smashed past his fellows again and over his dead.

"Come here and say that to my face! I'll be sure to show you compensation pretty little...whatever ya be!" Náthena snorted. Quite unladylike Boromir noted at that.

"You couldn't handle me orc. Even if you could 'rise' to the occasion." The orc bellowed in rage and his fellows stepped back from his wrath.

He made to charge her up hill. Náthena fired another arrow and it hit his left shoulder but merely made him stumble as he kept on towards her. Boromir took a step forward in worry.

"My lady!" She only smirked and brought her other leg from behind the hill forward so she stood fully atop it as the orc captain fell upon her. He slashed his heavy sword toward her, but she sidestepped and let it fall to the ground. Her right hand in a flash, went to her back and pulled a finely made blade forth from beneath her cloak. She slashed downwards and pinned it into his right arm. He threw himself up in a howl and swung around, and with his great strength, as well as Náthena still gripping her blade, threw her down the hill into a roll with her blade still in hand.

She came to a stop at the bottom of the hill and in a kneel. Her single braid fell along her shoulder and she remained kneeled for a time before the orcs that moved away from her in what seemed to be astonishment mingled with fear.

"Kill the wench ya' worms!" The captain bellowed as his wounds gushed blackened blood. Boromir charged forward and stood beside Náthena and before the orcs with sword at the ready.

"Never again tell me to wait for you to kill a company of orcs. Had you not listened to my stories? I've killed plenty in my time." Náthena whispered in a halfhearted seethe mingled with an undertone of a laugh. Boromir's eyes twinkled and he chuckled.

"Never again, my lady. Now shall _we _end this confrontation?" The orcs neared in grunts and growls, and Náthena nodded.

"Lets!" She replied with a smirk.

Boromir charged forward and so did she. The orcs came against them in kind. Boromir slashed across the front of one orc or large stature and he fell before him. Náthena snatched her second blade from her back, and swung both arms left and then right. Both gashing into an orcs neck and head with a hard crunch. As metal pierced through bone.

Boromir turned left and stabbed another orc heading toward Náthena and ran him through as he roared in his death throes. As Náthena slammed a hard boot into a second orc heading towards her with sword thrown above his head. He fell back and fell hard into the grass, as the strength of this one dark-elf was beyond what they had guessed. Both Boromir and the orcs.

She fell upon him and straddled the fiend as her daggers dug deep into the orcs chest and she twisted them much to the orcs pain, and yanked them forth as the blood flowed and flew from the thrashing beast. She pushed herself easily back up into a full stand and threw one of her daggers thru the air and into the neck of another orc. She turned and threw her last dagger up and slashed against a powerful and tall orc. It snarled and gnashed its teeth toward her as it attempted to overpower her in their clash.

Náthena snarled and kicked into the leg of the orc. It jolted and bent but did not yield. The orc in kind freed one of his hands and leveled it against her face, and swung forth. It collided into her and she staggered back. She barely missed the blade of the orc and it snatched along the bottom of her leggings. Her head spun and her vision momentarily blurred.

Boromir swung up left and carved into another large orcs hip and cleaved into his blackened skin. That orc made to swipe at Boromir, but too long was his great sword and the orc only flailed wildly, before Boromir grunted and pushed the creature off to the ground. He spotted Náthena then staggering back from another larger orc.

His eyes narrowed and he raised up high his sword. He cried out and charged the orc. It swung to meet the call, but the captain swung his mighty sword through the air with a great hum it slashed, pierced and left the neck of the orc. And, there then fell the head of that orc to the ground, and the body fell soon after.

"That...very much hurt." Náthena declared in a swooning tone. Boromir nodded but quickly turned and clashed with a large scimitar of another tall orc, as a small one charged beyond Boromir, along with a third and smaller still orc, toward Náthena.

She in kind growled and threw her last dagger toward one of them. It hit that creatures' eye and it flew back dead. The second small goblin; or so the creature seemed, took two daggers and stabbed toward her legs. Náthena seethed and with a fast and swift kick her boot fell onto the creatures face. It spun thru the air and fell to the ground nearby with a huff. Náthena bent down and elegantly snatched up a foul orc sword and bore down onto the fallen orc. She turned the hilt and stabbed down and picked the creature. Killing it quickly with no needless further suffering.

Boromir backed toward Náthena and kept his sword at the ready near to his face. His sword was covered with black blood, and sweat beaded down his brow as he eyed the remaining orcs. The larger ones were all dead, but three smaller skittering orcs remained but fear was within their eyes. They made no move against them as Náthena glared hatefully toward them and snatched up her daggers stuck into two separate orcs.

"ARGH!" Náthena turned as Boromir remained trained on the last fearful creatures. She looked upon the captain as he neared toward them even as he bled.

"Useless scum the lot of ya! This be the last time I take stinking Moria filth with me on raids!" The captain sneered toward the three creatures and they backed up further now as fear of their captain and the man and strange woman entered their hearts.

"I'll gut ya' both and take both yer' corpses back to Orthanc!" he snarled. To Náthena his words were meaningless, and she imagined some dark cave being this Orthanc, though the name flickered in some deep dark part of her memory. But, for Boromir's part, the man furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Why would one such as you speak of the tower of Orthanc?! No orc would dare near the dwelling of Saruman the White!" Boromir cried in full confidence. The orc snarled, and ignored Boromir's question. He lifted and pointed his sword toward Náthena who swung her daggers ready to meet the captain.

"You though, you I think I'll make sport out of, for what you did here to me arm." Náthena's eyes glinted and a twisted smirk crossed her darkened features.

"This one not only takes onto himself so great a sword as to compensate for what he lacks in manhood, but he can't even remember me saying as such! My dear Boromir he hasn't a chance." She laughed mockingly. Boromir looked to her incredulously but chuckled lowly nonetheless.

"I'll be showing you in but a minute you filthy maggot!" The captain cried clutching his massive sword. He swung at Náthena and she ducked under. Boromir sidestepped as the orc swung right and clear towards Boromir. It forced the gondorian to swing himself back, as the orc threw himself in a full circle to slash at Náthena.

She, however, ran toward him and with both daggers aimed upwards she caught the orcs sword. Both sets of arms shook as they struggled against one another. Both sets of eyes bore daggers into the other, and the blood from the orc spilled a little faster from the wounded arm.

Boromir caught his opening and made after the orc with a heave of his sword upwards. The orc snarled and heard the man's approach. He threw his right arm back and smacked against Boromir's sword with enough strength to throw him off his balance. Náthena felt a boiling hatred fill her heart, and visions flooded her mind, of her mistresses words. Until her head began to hurt, and at lasts he needed release herself from the pain.

"Your arms grow weak, orc-kind. You feel your power waning and will failing." The orc snarled at her, but then his expression turned confused, and he shook his head quickly. Boromir breathless, turned toward them from where he had stumbled. His eyes falling on Náthena as she spoke those words. They seemed to echo within his own mind, though no power they had on him.

"I know you grow weak, and wish now to let your fate consume you. For it s the fate of all your kind. To run or hide or wither and die. Listen now and listen clear for death draws ever near." the orc looked dazed, and Boromir felt his expression turn to wonder as the captain began losing his will before the man's very eyes. Though he still clashed with Náthena, Boromir could see her struggle weaken as the strength of this orc simply began to vanish.

"Oi...wha...what are you-"

"You have fought long, and you've fought hard, but now you wain. Through clash, and clang you feel only. The time has come to let go. Let me help you make it so." There then the orcs eyes glazed over and his sword fell to his side. He seemed to swoon and his gaze was far away looking into nothing but whatever lay within his head.

Náthena with ease and fineness of movement took both daggers and slammed both into the orcs head. One in the right and the other through the left. He almost didn't seem to notice in that instant they entered. Rather, as she pulled them out the orc captain fell over with a mighty thud. And, was no more.

She turned toward Boromir, and had what looked to be shame in her red eyes.

"How...?" Boromir trailed off, but then noticed the smaller orcs running and fleeing. Their fear was palpable as they too had witnessed what she had done. Náthena noted them wearily over her shoulder and shook her head, before she turned back toward Boromir.

"I...I assume that comes from your time among your people?" Boromir managed to say aloud. Náthena's head began to throb once more, and she felt a sense of paranoia fall over her. She felt as if something was looking for her from beneath a cowl on some distant mountaintop, or from a thicket in a distant full forest full of darkness and anger. She couldn't explain it but her head only throbbed further until she stepped away from where she stood and nearer to Boromir. The man sidestepped her as she passed by him, and she noted the marred expression of fear upon his face in this moment.

"Calyacále, Úcarëtári, whatever you or I may call her." She began. "She desired for herself those who would serve as acolytes. Thralls of a measure of power more than those other servants beneath her. Within the Great temple, in the deep pits of the soil, just before the breeding pits of the lócënossë and ûnilìm, I and my fellows were taken. Men and women of the moriquendi. We who became her priests and priestesses. I was one of them." She declared openly as her head felt like a dagger dug into it. Visions of her queen with shining silver hair mingled in gold and fiery red with glittering eyes staring into her face appeared.

"Our minds and our memories of our births and parents were sundered. I have flashes of trees, forests, dark mountains, and fire. Grass and glee I can remember smells and feelings. But, faces are all blurred. I can't recall names, or deeds. I can't remember my forebears and I can't remember those of my blood. I have only ever known since the pits beneath the Great Temple of Morgoth, my queen." Náthena said ashamedly and her eyes darted from Boromir's as he looked upon the dark-elf.

Her red eyes grew moist but she commanded them not to spill. Visions of her queen ever smiling at her lingered in her minds eye. A devious and knowing smile it was, and a welcoming one that nearly felt infectious. As though Náthena was meant to smile back along with her. All she knew was that she wouldn't! She hated her!

"I spoke to you last night of my service to Úcarëtári. I meant then that I had been a priestess of her. Only to finally rebel against her after a night of terror that I can only recall from feeling rather than actual memory. It was I who began the Purified movement. It was I who stood against her and formed the armies of those who wished to be free of her and Núndreníl. It was I who failed and brought everything to ruin." She cried as a tear finally forced itself from her and traveled down her ashen colored cheek.

"So, here I am. A broken moriquendi, of dark power and knowledge. Looking to beg men and elves I know little of for help in defeating my queen as she makes to send endless armies against this continent. It was my hope to not tell you or any other of my full history. As much as it is my own to even recall." Boromir's expression turned understanding and remorseful.

"You need not have hidden this from me my lady. It is true I have been more enthralled by your many stories and the oddness of you and your people since our meeting. Seeing you cause an orc to swoon into a stupor was shocking. Frightening even! Yet, it should not be for me to judge you for such actions until I know fully of how you came to do them." he smiled and neared. Quickly thereafter clasping a dirty hand onto her shoulder. She looked him in the eyes and his smile brightened.

"Now that I do I do not fault you. Indeed I welcome it!" He chuckled and pushed her back in lightheartedness. She smiled there then and disgustedly wiped her tear stricken face of the water droplets.

"Better we tread lightly with such matters when before lord Elrond , however. I doubt he'll hear your story and bid thee ill will. But, of other elves I cannot say, nor of my kind. Ever fearful of the new and the dark and unknown are the people of the world. And, of your story fear mingled with your warning of doom would be, perhaps too much for some to bear." She nodded solemnly. But, Boromir sheathed his sword after wiping, sighed in content.

"However, you shall always have my backing and support with you, my lady Náthena." She looked to him, and noted his expression and eyes as they spoke of truth behind his words. She felt herself flush with emotion and she smiled in kind though it was thinner than his.

"None who would fight an orc such as you have, or better still a pack of orcs, could be an enemy to the race of men. Indeed I would hail you a lady and friend of Gondor! Chief among my friends and comrades if we were both about my city and people." He declared with that returning lordly air about him.

"Indeed after we make for Rivendell, I would take you to my city, and you hall see the power left within our people, my people. We will see done both our woes my lady. Sauron and this Calyacále, will fall! Tremble before us and our combined strength!" he chuckled again and clasped her shoulder once more with a firm squeeze.

"As I said before, you're not alone my lady. I will help you if I can. For to defeat one enemy we need first defeat the first. Through it all I promise my word, and my strength to helping you."

"And I you, son of Gondor." She spoke lowly and thankfully. Her eyes threatening again to spill liquid down her cheeks. She tentatively laid her hand on his opposite shoulder and the two shared a silent moment of understanding and respect. They in that moment had become not just allies. But, comrades, or better still, friends.

They would soon thereafter speak no more of the ill and fell memories. They returned to Eldamel, who had been restless for some time now. Packed their things mostly quietly and returned along the main road toward the Last Homely House.

They would be there soon. Where the fate of the world was to be decided. And, yet changed still.

* * *

**Authors Note:** As ever guys please excuse OR point out any and all grammatical errors you may find. I will gladly fix them give time. ;P

Also, please tell me what you thought and leave a review (if you want of course,) and I'll be sure to update it in due time. :)


	4. Rivendell

**Chapter ****Four****: ****Rivendell**

Náthena and Boromir traveled along the old main road toward the Last Homely House closely straying and keeping near to the great flowing Bruinen river. Some more days passed without further delay made on the both of them. No Orcs found their way to them, but ever in the night did the snap of twig or rustling of the thickets against the whipping winds give them pause. Neither feared that they may come up against the foul creatures again and fail, but it did not serve them well to be hindered on their journeys by them.

Náthena thus remained awake through the nights. Much to the protest of the Gondorian Captain. Though Náthena would smile, but calm him. For her people rarely needed sleep as the man did, and those of his race. Thus she would be left alone in the dark once the heat and light born of the campfire would die. Only the intake and release or better yet, the snore, of her comrade breaking through the miasma of sounds from the darkness. The howl of unknown beasts rung to her ears, as the snaps of the twigs, the howl of winds and whipping of the leaves by those same winds. Náthena would find herself laying with her back against the warmth and large body of Eldamel. The steed showed no mind for it, and for that Náthena was most grateful. Especially as her mind wandered to darkened thoughts of fell memories. Pits where fire burned and beasts howled. Voices cried out, foul things chortled and whispered from afar yet within the very confines of her mind. Faceless shadows moved within memories that seemed but pale reflections of shadows within an already shaken watery pool. So very disjointed and confused as to where her head spun and she felt nearly sick.

From what, she knew not. The memories, and faceless beings, the thoughts of smells or sensations she tried to recall from those days before she ran from her Lady's pits and service. Yet, when she neared formation and clarity her head would feel as though sunken into a furnace whilst a terrible vice attacked it, and she would relent. To feel only pain, and anger well up within her. Near to tears even, for she so desperately wished to remember, and her curiosity only intensified since her revelation of her past to her companion days prior. Alas, it never came. Only the morning would, and so she and Boromir would gather their things and take back up north along the Bruinen with Eldamel carrying one of them in intervals.

Though the lush green of the grass brought hope and mirth to the Moriquendi as they carried on. For much of the time in silence as well. Though Boromir would break into memory and partake in indulging Náthena with tales of the many battles fought, both won and lost against the Orcs of Mordor. She listened with enraptured ears, though often she lamented at the death and hopeless unspoken tone of the man's words. But, when his brother Faramir was mentioned he would seem once more alive and free of sorrow. And she could sense the love had there, and that too gave her some peace and reason to smile.

"...I had told him not to, but he did so, nonetheless!" Boromir went on as he told Náthena another tale of he and his brother as they fought for their father, the Steward of Gondor. She smiled as he went on, a feint laugh escaping from her as he did.

"Ever does he seek to cause me an early grave by his foolhardiness! He jumps off the broken tower and lands atop one of the Orcs! It begins grunting, growling and the usual gnashing the snarling things do when aggravated. There he is, my brother, arms wrapped around its neck from behind, eyes wide and holding on for dear life. All the while he's yelling for me to rush towards him and fell the beast!" Boromir went on laughing.

"I tried telling him I could not with him on its back! If I were then I daresay, I would have run both he and the creature through."

"Yes, you appear to love the sword more than the dagger. So far as I've seen." Náthena chimed in. Boromir nodded.

"I've never been one to allow any Orc or other enemy of Gondor come near enough for the need to arise, my lady. I have some skill with the bow, but nothing like that of my brother. Often does he take companies of our Rangers into Ithilien across the Anduin. There he waylays men heading the call from Mordor. Both from the east and south. Many are patrols, but there are times the rangers along with Faramir can ambush entire legions of Orc or allies of Sauron." Boromir went on, disengaging from his tale of mirth from before, now left unfinished.

"Are there many men who ally with Sauron?" Náthena's deeply accented voice asked in reply as she continued to walk alongside Eldamel with Boromir sat atop him.

"More than any would like to admit." He grimly replied. "My brother would like to think they may have been forced into service by their lords ad kings who themselves, for greed or promises of power have sided with the Enemy. Yet, our history, and by that I mean Gondor's with both the men of the south and east is complicated. Many wars, many campaigns, too much blood spilt for there not to have been fostered any such malice between us."

"So, you believe they side with Sauron for revenge." Náthena stated rather than asked. Boromir nodded all the same.

"If not all, then most. If it were that they were forced to side with the Enemy then they would not so easily ally in raising villages, pillaging lands and letting the blood of my people. Anger, and vengeance has taken hold of them, and only when both they and us are totally spent do I believe we will stop fighting." He paused. "At least, until they attack Gondor again. With or without Sauron leading the charge." He morosely mused aloud with hardened distant glare upon his features.

"You have so little faith for these men of the east and south. Perchance, would they say the same about you if I were to ask?" Náthena inquired, and brought Boromir to glance at her quizzically. He remained silent for a moment, before smiling weekly.

"You reminded me of my brother but for a moment." He chuckled softly but for a moment further. "I know not the mind of those men, nor would I seek to. As to what lay in their hearts and to what they would say to you concerning my people and Gondor itself I shall not endeavor to guess, my lady." Náthena bowed her head and said no more. Once more she sought not to press her companion any further.

So they continued north along the old road. Long since had the forest and wild retaken old passes and roads of stone. Now they lay laden with covering moss and burgeoning thickets as trees run rampant hung overhead swaying from the midday breeze that passed down from the mountains near. The sun hung high overhead and could lull one to believe all was well in the world. Were it not for the impending and lingering doom that hung heavily on both the hearts of Boromir and Náthena. Though neither spoke further on it again. A quiet overcame them once more, and though it was peaceful and content, it held much left to be said as well.

The midday soon neared its end as they continued. Until they grew nearer to the mountains and ridges near to them. The Bruinen began winding further upwards away from the flat lands. Trees grew larger and ever more serene like images form a long lost time and old tale of a gentler period. A song seemed almost ready to spill forth from them in the calm of the daylight. Yet, it was here that Náthena heard renewed rustling amongst the leaves and cracking of twigs in greater amounts. Until at last her crimson eyes saw from afar what Boromir could not.

A shadow, near formless and fast went from left to right behind a thicket to a tree that stood as the entryway to a small patch of forestry. Náthena stuck her right arm out from her body and before Eldamel. The steed came to an immediate halt, though not without whinnying in slight disturbance. Boromir atop the horse jerked forwards and back slightly with the sudden stop as well, and looked to Náthena questioningly.

"We have observers within the wood." She intoned and Boromir looked slowly towards where she kept her gaze fixed.

"Do you-" Before he could finish, and within a flash of speed and motion Náthena pulled forth her bow and brought to the ready another blackened arrow with notched tip. She aimed towards the trees and figures unseen by the Gondorian Captain. Nonetheless, he jumped from atop Eldamel with such haste that the steed reared in confusion. He unsheathed and pulled forth his sword and yanked around from his back his shield.

Before another word could be said or exchanged, Náthena released the arrow. It sung through the air and pierced the winds until it escaped beyond sight through the forestry. She readied another and Boromir felt his heart race and senses sharpen as he sought to see what his companion from afar could with her no less Elven eyes.

"That was but a shot made in warning! If you would like to test my aim I assure you I will not miss the second shot. Nor will it be a fatal one at that!" She called out, her accent ringing heavy as her voice grew louder and more commanding. Boromir kept looking to the trees but alas saw nothing. All the while Eldamel trotted in place seeming frustrated by the firing of arrows and raising of voices.

"Hold your arrow!" A voice rung out in reply. Boromir held nearer to him his shield and kept his sword ready, but the voice sounded not of Orc. Though he did not yet dare drop his guard, and neither did Náthena who kept her arrow at the ready with her bow. Out from the tree came an armored man, though Boromir felt shocked as he seemed to come from out of the forest himself, so well hidden had he been. Though he was armored lightly upon arms and legs he bore the serene appearance of an elf. Long dark hair hung down from his shoulders and his skin was fairer than most mortal men.

Following after him came another. Again, the Elf seemed to come from the forest itself, and so alike did he seem to the first that Boromir shook his head in disbelief. Though he had seen few Elves in his days he did not recall them being so alike in looks as to cause him such mental stirring.

"We meant thee no harm! I am Elladan, and this is Elrohir. We are the sons to Elrond of Rivendell. Of which you both near. We sought only to observe and see to whom approached. Friend or foe."

"Care to say which you both may be?" The second, Elrohir asked as he came up beside his brother. That helped explain their similarity to Boromir who finally eased himself at hearing to whom their father was. Though Náthena kept her arrow at the ready and trained onto Elladan from afar.

"Then I believe greetings are in order!" Boromir announced casting Náthena a calming glance. Though she met his eyes he could see she was not yet willing to ease herself. As to her seeming unwillingness Boromir held a silent question, but cast it aside for the time being and neared towards the Elves from beside Eldamel.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. My companion is named Náthena. She's...from far to the south." He explained poorly and gave an apologetic glance to her. She seemed tempted to frown but kept herself trained onto the Elves instead.

"I've come seeking an answer to a riddle that's plagued me for many nights. I believe your father may be of some aid to me in that manner. As well, I have heard the rumors of what has come to Rivendell." He intoned causing the Elves to share a glance. Náthena said nothing, but she recalled him mentioning a weapon of Sauron before. She had not asked too much on the matter, and now the question hung on her lips, but she did not speak on it. Not for now at least, especially as these Elves seemed aware of what the Captain spoke.

"We mean no harm to you or your father. Nor to the realm and its people. My companionis merely very cautious." Boromir gave a smile, and by no means a fully convincing one as he glanced between both Náthena and the Elven siblings. "We were waylaid as it were, by an Orc pack not four days ago. We are, as you can imagine, anxious of those who may approach us, or remain hidden beyond sight."

"An Orc pack?" The second, Elrohir, repeated. "What look had they, Gondorian?" He asked. Boromir finally sheathed his sword and looked silently in plea to Náthena to lower her weapon. Only then did she through narrowed eyes and unease, loosen the arrow and let the bowstring relax.

"There were many, most of them tall, broader and more man-like than I'd seen before. I thought them perhaps an Orc kind that dwelled deep beneath the Misty Mountains. A like I am not accustomed to perhaps. Though they had with them many smaller ilk whom one let be known were of the mountains. More Goblin than an Orc of Morannon or Minas Morgul." The mentioning of these names and places yet unknown to Náthena had her feeling confusion. Though she said nothing and clutched at the reins of Eldamel who neared to her. She calmed him by placing ashen hand upon his man and stroking. She had put her arrow back to its satchel and let Boromir continue speaking.

"Curiously, their leader; a rather large and brutish figure even for those gathered around him, said he'd return to Orthanc." Boromir went on. "I desired to know why he'd near the domain of Saruman the White, but he did not answer, and neither will he have the chance to ever do so now." With no small hint of pride in his voice he informed them. Though Náthena was tempted to roll her eyes as her companion's love for battle leaked through in that moment once more.

"On that there is much to be said." Elladan cut in and moved forward in more open and friendly a manner. "Not here, however. Spies of the Enemy may be anywhere. Even to this point. Come, the both of you. We will escort you to Rivendell. Our father will welcome you, and give both of you what I think is much desired rest." The Elf smiled kindly to both newcomers as Elrohir approached and gave an agreeing nod.

Boromir laughed lightly and bowed his head.

"You have both of our thanks." He turned to Náthena who gave a curt nod. "Please lead on." He offered, and Elladan turned back towards the trees. He gave a call in a tongue near to Náthena's as she heard it, and then from the wood came trotting two horses. Both were lightly armored and saddled. They too appeared to be hidden well amongst the trees and gave renewed surprise to Boromir.

As both Elves sat themselves atop their steeds, Boromir turned back and came beside Náthena.

"I feel that we have nothing to fear from these two. They are the sons of Elrond himself. Besides," He went on looking Náthena in her crimson eyes. "Rarely would you find an Elf who'd side with the Enemy."

"I wish it were so true where I hail from, Boromir." She sadly intoned in reply causing Boromir to sigh in quiet contemplation on that fact.

"I trust your wisdom, and will follow them. Yet," She paused as the two brothers sat waiting atop their steeds looking their way. "I sense they cast onto me a more critical eye. More than they do you."

"It must be for your exotic looks." Boromir replied matter-of-factly. "Your kind has, as far as I know, never been seen upon these lands. I doubt even the sons of Elrond have seen an Elf as you. Undoubtedly all of Rivendell will be more astir with your coming than my own." He smiled which calmed her nerves only some as she continued to watch the brothers look more at her, and pass whispers in their tongue to one another. It made her uneasy now all the same as it had when they looked to her hidden amongst the trees.

"Come," Boromir broke the silence and pat Eldamel. "You can rest your legs for a time. I think I would like to stretch mine before entering Rivendell." The man smiled and finally brought one to Náthena's features. And, as such, she silently took up his offer and climbed atop the steed.

"We will ride slowly, Boromir of Gondor. Imladris is not far off!" Elrohir proclaimed as he and his brother turned back north and began slowly moving with their horses. Náthena and Boromir followed after, and in a short time caught up alongside the brothers. Nothing was spoken for a time, and a heavy silence it was. Questions hung unspoken and asked. Worries remained hidden under the surface as eyes gazed towards left and right to watch for movements unwanted or unexpected. And, as they traveled the way towards Rivendell and neared ever closer to it the heavier it became.

Náthena said nothing through all of this, and instead focused on settling herself. In her first encounter with Elves such as these she'd never expected to be as frightened or anxious as she now felt. Their fair skin, and soft demeanor but obvious weapons and armor spoke to her of a way and manner far different than that she was used to. No ashen skin, or blood colored eyes, nor white or grayed hair. Though their lands were similar in their beauty and wonder. Save that these held no whisper of darkness looming and creeping beneath it as her homelands did with the power of her mistress and her servant Núndreníl.

"Greetings again." Náthena was jerked from her musings from the voice. So lost had she been that she nearly forgotten about those around her. She turned left and there upon his steed one of the brothers sat. Though they were practically indistinguishable from one another she had kept track that this one was Elladan. He smiled her way kindly though she sensed age about him, and yet a youthfulness lost on many of her kind.

"Greetings to you, Elladan." She replied tersely. Beside her and to her right Elrohir sat atop his horse and said nothing. Boromir looked their way as they spoke with a questioning expression about him, but also said nothing.

"My apologies for before. My brother and I have since been tasked by our father with errands of great importance. I nor he intended to startle you or your companion."

"Watching someone from afar for stretches of time without word or approach usually signals ill will where I'm concerned, Elladan, son of Elrond." She replied tersely still. He nodded.

"It could, but I meant nothing by it. I admit when I'd first seen you, my brother and I were shocked." Náthena sighed.

"Because of how I look?" He again nodded though with no ill will about his demeanor.

"Forgive me if it seems so forward. But, I and my brother have been to most dominions of Elves here upon Middle-Earth. We've heard the old tales and know of legends passed from bygone times. Yet, never have we heard or seen one such as you. Tell me, where do you hail from?" Náthena chanced a glance his way. His look was innocent though inquisitive. She gave another quick glance right and could see Elrohir also chancing glances her way while Boromir did his best to look forward.

So she sighed before answering.

"That is a long tale I've already told to Boromir. It is not one I am keen on retelling just yet. What I shall say is that I come from lands far from yours. Across the sea in fact. With a warning that must be heard by all those who yet wish to fight against growing darkness. Though, since I've been upon these lands I find hope for such dwindling." She intoned darkly much as she knew that would upset Boromir to hear.

"Across the sea? From the south?" Elrohir spoke up.

"There is much she has to say, my friends." Boromir finally chimed in as well. "I would be lying if I said her tale didn't startle me. Yet, I feel there is great truth in it. That being so, then I fear there's much more troubling affairs to be had and spoken of than merely the shadow that glowers to the east." Boromir added darkly though honestly.

The brothers shared a hard and almost worried expression.

"I see. Then indeed our father should hear your tale, my lady. I must admit I would like to hear it as well!" Elladan offered with a thin, but heartfelt smile of curiosity. Náthena finally cast him a weak smile of her own and bowed her head.

"I will indulge you all soon enough. Needless to say, I am Elven, but not one of your kind. At least, I and my people have not been for many centuries. I...we are Moriquendi." She declared and Elladan's eyes lit up as he seemed to recognize the term.

"Dark Elf! Ah now that I have heard of. Though I had not thought the term so...literal." He gave an expression best described as embarrassed at his phrasing. Elrohir cast him a pointed look with furrowed brow. That elicited, at last, a snicker that became a chuckle from Náthena. Though, that action also seemed unusual to the Elven pair.

"I know your meaning, Elladan. I take no offense, but perhaps your words could be better chosen in the future?"

"Of course, Lady Náthena." He smiled apologetically and Náthena swore she heard Elrohir beside them sigh.

Though it only took a moment longer and they rounded a winding pat along a rocky ridge. There Náthena felt her breath stolen as her eyes beheld a dwelling sat along a ridge. Where near to it water fell and trees blossomed. The sun shone down upon it and birds sung as if the gates to a paradise forgotten had been opened to her. Homes or dwellings led to one another via bridge. They all were open with railings, landings and open windows. The falls around them sung out in serenity and calm, and willed Náthena to swoon where she sat into dreams were she not so awake with wonder and awe. In that moment she felt peaceful and it felt like a nearly forgotten sensation she welcomed eagerly if silently.

"Welcome, my Lord and Lady, to Imladris. Rivendell in the common tongue. Ruled by our father, Elrond Half-Elven." Elrohir offered with a slight grin at seeing Náthena's expression. She figured he took joy in awing her as her appearance perhaps had he and his brother.

"Though I must admit, neither of you are hardly the first to come our father's way of late. Many have come from as many distant places with tales of their own to tell." He looked to Boromir. "Though none lacking in whispers of shadows and malice." The Elf and man seemed to share a silent recognition or understanding of sorts lost on Náthena as she glanced their way. Nonetheless, Boromir nodded seemingly in understanding of what Elrohir spoke of.

"Ah, but let's leave such matters for another time, brother! Come, I can imagine the both of you are weary of your travels north!" Elladan pushed his steed forward where Eldamel, Náthena, and the others quickly followed after.

"We can offer you food, drink, a chance to rest and perhaps even a bath if so inclined." Elladan offered in far cheerier and open a manner than their first meeting. He smiled Náthena and Boromir's way as he spoke Though both were given pause to look down on themselves, and appreciate their appearance and perhaps, as Elladan would suggest, their odors.

"A bath would maybe do me some good." Boromir offered as he moved quickly alongside Náthena who chuckled softly. And the both of them followed after the sons of Elrond towards the entryway of Rivendell.

* * *

Once passed the entryway Boromir's prediction was proven true quickly to Náthena. Around the courtyard stood and wandered many Elves. All of them finely dressed and well groomed. All fairer than she had ever imagined them to possibly be and all seemingly ready to shine in their beauty and pristine grace.

Yet, as they beheld her riding in upon Eldamel with clothes ragged, and blotched in blood of man and Orc alike they stopped where they stood. All who could see her turned and gawked in wonder at the sight they beheld for none had ever to see an Elf such as he. And all of them perceived by her look though exotic as they may be, to be an Elf.

Náthena felt heat rise in her and unease grip her as many sets of eyes became plastered and stuck onto her from near and far. She allowed her eyes to dance across her vision from left to right. The many faces, and standing figures around adding to her unease. Even as both Elladan and Elrohir hopped off from atop their steeds whom were taken away by other Elves to stables unseen she remained frozen atop Eldamel.

"Náthena?" She glanced sharply left where Boromir now stood having came up alongside her.

"Are you alright?"

"They're all looking at me." She glanced around nervously though she averted her eyes from all those looking to her. Boromir noted them mutely as well before waving them off.

"Ignore them. Here, let me help you down." he offered her his right hand kindly and chivalrously with a smile upon his face. She in kind thinly smiled and took it and gently hopped off of Eldamel. An Elf from before neared, finely dressed and armored only slightly, seeming a sentry as much as a stable hand.

"I can take your horse...my lady." He offered with muted shock and interest.

"That will be good Findol, thank you." Elrohir responded coming up along with Elladan. Though Eldamel seemed agitated and began whipping his head back and forth.

"Whoa," Náthena pet his mane and the steed calmed immediately. The Elves near watched her calm the horse. Which had since their meeting not gone parted save but for brief moments. Indeed, not since he was fated for death for food by the hands of the Orcs near Minas Tirith, had they been parted.

"Be calm, my friend." She cooed and turned the horses head her way to look into her eyes. Then before the sentry, Boromir and the brother she broke into her native language. The Elves looked to one another in confusion and mixed recognition. So close it sounded to old Quenya, but different prepositions, new rolling words and longer pronunciations. Yet, as the Elves here and in other places of the world could, her words seemed to speak to the steed himself and he calmed beneath her gaze, words, and calming hand. Only Boromir seemed unfazed though her tongue was as new to him as they. Of course never before had he heard so much Elvish spoken before anyways.

"You may take him. Treat him well, and let him rest though. He's not rested peacefully for some time." She smiled, and never took her eyes off her steed. The sentry said nothing and took the reins gently. Elrohir nodded to him and silently told him to do as requested though he surely meant to anyways. Thus the two brothers, Boromir and Náthena stood in the mostly open courtyard. Still with onlookers spread about the courtyard and terraces or near balconies about.

"If both of you would please." Elladan motioned his hands towards a set of finely maintained stairs that seemed to be made of fine marble. "We can set both of you up in your own quarters." Elrohir chimed in.

"I will see to it that my father, if he does not already know, hears of both of your comings. While I and my brother speak with him, please rest, eat, drink, and if you need new clothing, say as much and it shall be yours." He offered in more kindly a manner as his brother had begun doing. Though neither Náthena nor Boromir thought him purposefully rude. More guarded perhaps.

"My thanks to you, Elladan and Elrohir." Boromir responded with another dip of his head. Náthena did much the same though she still felt unease at the staring eyes about.

Silently then they were led up and into the open welcoming halls of this Rivendell. Some halls were littered with fallen leaves, though rather than deter from the look or make the halls seem dirty it gave it an earthy scent and welcoming atmosphere. There appeared to be little windows or glass blocking what was within from the outside. Outside one could look into the valley below, the rising ridges and gorge Rivendell sat upon. The waterfalls ever hitting the ears and sending one into calm and peace.

As they moved through the halls Náthena found herself feeling a sense of kinship long since lost. In these people, r at least in their architecture and look she felt and sensed an ancient kinship. But, her guard never dropped, nor her unease that grew and festered in the pit of her stomach. Through the halls, though finely lit, adorned with breath taking portraits of battles long ago fought, or persons in meadows unknown, or even cities unknown perhaps now gone, there were those who wandered them. They all looked upon the group of four, and their eyes pierced beyond their lords, and sons of Elrond. Beyond the man, whose presence would be nothing new or scandalous within these halls no doubt. Yet her, she was new. Like a new plaything where all children set their eyes upon it and wished to near, take hold and play with it. Or, the worse option that took root in her mind, that she appeared like a new knife, a blade unsheathed, and those around looked on in fear, in mistrust and critical wary eye.

Because of this, even with knives at the ready upon her back, bow and arrow within reach, she felt her right hand reach out and take into it the exposed clothed wrist of the Gondorian Captain who she knew for mere days. Yet, in that time she'd come to know, and respect him. She dared to think of him as friend and ally even now. She caught a glimpse of his glancing eyes and he bowed an assuring nod and silently gave her freedom to seek unspoken strength in a mere touch. It gave her ease, if only a little. Which faded quickly as they came upon a doorway finely carved around it an arch of vines and craftsmanship she's only seen in the fine homes and palaces of Calandoth, or the Great temple where Morgoth's effigy loomed.

"My lord Boromir, if you'd please these can act as your quarters." Elladan offered and quickly turned around and pointed to another doorway on the opposite side of the hall and some feet away from the first.

"That shall be yours, my lady Náthena. We see no reason to move thee so far away from your companion. Though we hope you approve and take no issue with doing such."

"No!" She called rather quickly, and loudly, throwing both man and Elves off. She awkwardly looked back down to her booted feet and felt her face flush in heat.

"I mean, no. No I don't mind that at all. Thank you, my lords." Her accented voice, now cooler, and lower responded. Especially as two Elves walking the halls passed them by looking to her in both awe, but also what appeared to be mild agitation from her loud protestation before. The brothers nodded all the same.

"Well whenever you're ready you may enter. We'll have someone come to your rooms and ask if you require anything."

"Really, anything you need at all." Elladan offered kindly after Elrohir. Both Boromir and Náthena nodded, and the brothers took their leave of them standing in the hall.

"I suppose we should be called tonight for a meal. It would be the lordly thing to do I would say." Boromir offered with a chuckle. "We should get some rest. At the east I need to get out of this outfit and into something more..presentable." He laughed more still. Only then Náthena noticed a small satchel of his at the ready. Perhaps he had more clothing in there. It gave her pause, and reason to frown. As she realized she had nothing besides what was on her already to wear.

"As I suppose I'll have to request some more clothing. Doubtless it'll be a fanciful dress like those I've seen so far worn by the maidens about." She wrinkled her nose and Boromir chuckled softly.

"Maybe if you ask for what you wish you shall receive. It need only be for a time anyways, my lady. I'm sure they can wash your current garments." Náthena again looked down to her dark clothing. Her leggings, shirt, and her cloak behind her. All of it dirty, much of it bloodstained.

"Perhaps. Though hopefully they ask little of the blood."

"Orc blood is no new thing I'm sure." Boromir offered.

"Were that the only type upon me then I would agree." The Captain paused and cocked on brow in confusion.

"A run in with pirates, my lord Boromir. A run in with pirates." She placated with a single raised and hopefully soothing hand. He hummed in understanding and gave another nod.

"All in due time all shall be said and questions answered. So I feel, my lady." Boromir offered a hand to her shoulder. "Now go and get comfortable. Lord Elrond will surely summon us soon enough. Best to get what rest you can...if any." he smirked and she nodded though only halfheartedly smiled before turning to her room upon the opposite end of the hall. Boromir entered his quarters and Náthena took a minute before opening hers.

Peeking her head in and around the door she held onto and did not open fully, she expected there to be someone there. Though in all reality she knew it would not be so. She looked about the room, from ceiling, to floor, left and right and found no one about. So, with a sigh she entered and closed the fine wooden door behind her. To her left lay a wardrobe and an oval standing mirror by it. It was lined in what seemed gold and the mirroring glass was clear and clean to perfection.

She tentatively walked before it and brought herself into view. There staring at her was the ashen colored Elven woman. Pointed ears, crimson eyes, dark skin, grayish and seeming lifeless and not yet like that of the foul Orc kind she'd seen before. Her white hair flowing down behind her still about its braid, though now loosen and wild in places as she wandered the wilderness with little care for grooming herself. Her clothing still dirty, and still stained. Náthena brought her right hand up to her cheek and slowly caressed it and watched herself commit the action with a heavy sigh upon her lips as she did so.

Then with suddenness her head flared, and pain ripped through it. She gripped it in both hands and she felt herself bend down in pain. Her ears rung though surely no sound was near that was as piercing. She seethed and groaned lowly as to not alert any who may near outside her room. As her mind flashed with images that tore at her mind's eye, like a searing scalpel to one's own flesh! Again visions of her mistress Calyacále, no, Úcarëtári, stood looking at her. Her eyes piercing and glittering distantly in starlight while her fair and perfect form glistened and glowed bright and wondrous. So much so she became breathless again and thought her standing before her!

She fell to her knees and whimpered as her head continued to feel as though the beasts of her mistress put her head to a vice! Foul stenches reached her though she could not imagine them real and before her. New images flashed, again of pits deep and muddy, filled with foul things, cries and screams from the distance. Fires roared in them and perched upon a balcony she peered down over a disgusting rotting wood railing to see the Lócënossë in all their tall and powerful glory, attack some of the mannish saves brought down into the pits. Their cries echoed and rung in her ears or her mind, she knew not which. They looked up pleading and begging in some language unknown to her, and the serpentine beasts of Úcarëtári with claws of daggers and black knives tore into flesh, and screeched loud as they did. Slithering tongues were barred as they wailed in hunger and enjoyment, maws opened wide showing their teeth, razor sharp and rowed within. Golden yellow eyes, with diamond black centers showed no remorse, no feeling, but pure joy as they clawed, and bit and beat down the men. Their tales behind them whipping about, their huge frames falling upon the men, and their maws clutching to necks and arms, and ripping flesh from bone. A terrible laugh from above echoed through the pit, and for a moment Náthena thought it come up from her, but she heard the tone of power and poisoned sweetness that was her mistress and lady.

Then she opened her eyes. The pain ebbed, and she found herself laying upon the stone floor. Her arms had found themselves with balled fists on either side of her head and her legs had come up near to her, where knee nearly touched face. Her vision was blurred but returned slowly to her and she was shaking. She felt sick, and with great effort she unfurled herself from the floor, and climbed up and towards the bed she'd noted to her right across form the wardrobe and mirror. Beside it upon its right lay the way to an open balcony where the sounds of falling water and cool breezes entered. The leaves that fell there and flew about free and natural could have calmed her were she not so lost in her painful stupor.

With shaking hands, she reached out and clutched the bed frame, and walked around it and then she let herself fall upon the bed. Unceremoniously as it was, she found herself begging at the nothingness for sleep. Dirty, unruly seeming, and sapped of strength though wary she was, Náthena fell onto the bed, and closed her eyes as her stomach twisted and head ebbed with pain. Darkness took her once more.

* * *

"You are sure of what you saw?" The voice, so powerful so wise, and so moving asked with coolness and emanating power that dripped forth. The little Orc before the owner of the voice bowed time and again. The little wretched thing had been of Moria in time passed, but had since entered into the service of the power that now came from Orthanc.

"Yes, my lord!" It sniveled. "She was Elf like she was, and traveled with the man! Gondorian he said he was. Big sword and shield, he cleaved many of my fellows!" Saruman the White grumbled a low sigh, his stare upon the little thing never wavering as he listened to it talk before his blackened seat.

"Your 'fellows' are of no concern to me. Speak on the woman again." He commanded with low and cool a vibrating voice.

"Dark she was, skin almost made me thinks she be Orcish, but no Orc looked like her! So me thinks she be from far Harad or some sorts of Mannish lands where such people lives. But, daggers like Elves she had, and bow finely made, with hair gray, eyes blood colored and ears pointed even like these!" He made sure to flick his finger over his own disgusting little pointed ear. Though his was layered in darkened grease and half removed by some unknown way. Though Saruman cared not to know.

"Very good. Now of your Captain. Say again what was done to him." Saruman beckoned mutely as distant cries of Orcs from the deep caverns outside came up into the tower through the open doorway to his terrace.

"She gutted lots of me boys, her and the man. But, the Captain, he comes down after her and has her on the retreat! Then she begins telling him he's tired, and weak, and he goes all limp on her. Just like that he looks asleep and she sticks her little knives in his head, and he's dead! So, I runs and come back to tell you, my lord! Quick and right away I did!"

"Yes, yes." Saruman waves off the little wretch and his attempts to hide his cowardice. What concerned him more was the notion that this woman cast so easily some foul spell upon an Uruk of his. The power in her words, like those of his own gave him pause. Though he'd already gained word of this creature's coming from Sauron. Just as with his fellow Maia, he was intrigued by her coming, and what it meant. Not even beginning to say who she was at that.

"Return to the pits. Speak no more on the matter or be sent to care for the wargs." Saruman ordered and warned with no darker or fouler a tone than before. The Orc recoiled in fear but, nevertheless, slunk away and out of Saruman's sight. The White Wizard stood from his throne and walked forwards. The sounds and smokey smells echoed and found their way into his tower from outside, but he paid them no mind as he neared his palantir to send word to Sauron of the news brought to him. Yet, as he came before the dais it sat upon and his white hand stretched out to hover over the orb he paused and his hand with him. As it so clearly occurred to him that the Lord in the East desired this woman, though he knew not why. Perchance, he wondered, did Sauron know something he did not share? Was it a test, and she but an agent unbeknownst to him in service to the Dark Lord? Then would it behoove him to send word, or keep it from Sauron?

It took but another moment, and Saruman recoiled his hand from the dais and he summoned for his Orc Captain of the pits. The fattened, pale, and disgusting orc came up the tower and before the White Wizard.

"You summoned me, my lord?" He bowed his fat ugly head.

"An Orc from a destroyed hunting party was sent down into the pits. He is to be killed. Feed him to the wargs, and have him speak not a word to any other Orc. Should he, they will also be put to the pits. Now go." He ordered and walked with back turned, towards his study and books. For, he desired to first commit himself to research on this matter if he could.

"Yes, lord." The Orc replied, and turned away from Saruman and left out from the tower to do his bidding.

* * *

(The First Age)

The Iron Prison as it was known lay behind them. They in turn appeared as shadows, or great extensive lights they bounded across open fields in the desolation before Angband. Then into the forests and further south they went. Unseen or unheard save for the echoes of their power. Until the shadow among the two came to a stop and awaited the light that followed and came beside it.

"Are we there?!" Vóriselyë asked, her voice light and ever in wonderment. Her eyes darted across where they stood which now was shown to be a grassy hill with forest to their backs. Beside her stood Sauron in blackened armor and freely flowing hair in the open winds that traveled across Beleriand. Before them lay a great open valley that went out into the distance.

"Come and you shall watch from afar. Then we shall take you nearer. For, you are young, and you have not yet seen war. To join with us, with Melkor and I, and those who've seen the error of both those upon Valinor, and Eru, you must see what is to happen for many years, even centuries." He motioned his right arm outwards and there in the great distance Vóriselyë had to extend her vision. Though she saw what Mairon pointed her towards.

There upon many steeds rode several dozen Elves. Their armor gleaming and gold, hair black and spears at the ready. They moved without haste from the west into the east across the vast open plains. They seemed to have no care, and nothing marred their way, so Vóriselyë pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as she looked to Mairon.

"I see nothing, Mairon." He ignored her use of that name.

"For I wished you not t see it until the time was right. Be silent now, and watch again. Take your eyes not from the sight, and know we near once it is done." He again pointed out before crossing his arms over armored chest. Vóriselyë again looked into the distance, and found the Elven horsemen. Only now she could see, what seemed to be a shadow from the north descend upon them. As if a thick ashen fog had fallen to the earth and crawled along like the tendrils of a spider.

Sauron waved his right hand out and across himself and suddenly the shadow dispelled and shown lay a legion of foul little hunched Orcs. All in blackened armor of crude ugly make, and all little greenish colored or yellow tinged bleak creatures. With them charged beasts yet unknown to her. Ravenous wolves, or so they seemed and bats flew out and with purpose as they sensed the shadow pass.

They wailed and cried and snarled as they charged the Elves upon their horses who turned now in shock and horror. For they had not seen nor heard the approach of what was an Orc party numbering dozens if not hundreds. The first Orcs to waylay them charged with spears in hands, and one skewered a white horse where its armor had not covered it neck. Then the young Maia felt herself jump where her form stood, and something in her churned.

The horse cried as blood spilled forth from the gash and it fell over upon the leg of its rider crushed under it. Three bats befell the fallen Elf and gnashed, clawed and bit into him and his armor, until at last another Orc climbed atop the dying horse and stabbed again and again down into the fallen man before hacking wildly at the horse as well.

"Oh.." Vóriselyë whimpered out and she lurched her eyes from the sight.

"Watch Vóriselyë, observe war. Or return to Valinor." She forced her head back and her glistening eyes sparkling in distant stars watched from afar once more. As horses and Eves upon them charged and ran down the Orcs in large numbers underfoot. So easily they fell that she believed them far too few to defeat so small an Elven company.

Only then Orcs to the rear unleashed arrows that sung through the air towards the Elves who raised shields for they and their horses. Though not all went unmarred as black arrow fell into one Elven neck and he fell from horse who sprung into unstoppable run from the chaos and battle unfolding. Yet the wolves, or wolf-like beasts gave chase, snarling, biting, gnashing until one leapt and dug claws into exposed flesh bringing the horse down and allowing those other beasts to fall upon the horse without relent.

Elves fell from their horses and brought to bare finely crafted swords and cleaved down onto Orc after Orc, felling dozens in their wake. From above the bats screeched and fell onto head and shoulder gnawing at armor, and taking helmets form their heads. Orcs loosed spear and arrow and two more of them fell with blood rushing from the wound. Then an ugly sound like a wailing beast sounded out, and further south Vóriselyë beheld another Orc pack rushing into the battle. Wolves to the front, teeth larger and spit flying from exposed mouth howling at nothingness and craving destruction and battle.

They slammed paws lined with talons of claws into the dirt until they were upon the Elves who turned with spear and shield ready. They were hewn and skewered those who befell them to the front. Then those behind moved under dead fellow beast and wrapped teeth onto Elven leg and boot. Those Orcs still from before slashed and spears jolted forwards into exposed backs of Elves who cried out in their tongues to the Valar afar who would not hear them, or chose not to. The bats circled and cried out in shrieking unison as they then fell onto the Elves remaining attacking them with Orcs wildly slashing at both they and the Elven enemy as the wolves feasted and fell onto those who yet drew breath. Their horses were clawed and skewered by bats and wolves, and spear or sword until the melee came to an end as the last chocking croak of the last Elf was loosed, and his horse moved no more as neither did he.

"That is but afar the reality, and this is small compared to what has been, and what will be. Now follow quickly to me Vóriselyë. For you shall see what was wrought near. For not all battles will be so far from thee in time." He extended his right hand to her as if to take it. She took her sight from the battle and blood afar and brought her hands to her chest and looked to him with glistening eyes.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Sauron recoiled his hand from her. She wept none, but the tears showed were those of a child. A child who'd seen that which they were not yet ready for. Her glittering eyes were dimmed and her hair, now took on a pale color from their vibrancy as they changed at will or by mood, and Sauron beheld her as innocence began to wither and soon die.

"It is but the reality of thy choice I give to you, Vóriselyë. You can run now, seek out they who sit idle while this happens upon Aman to the west, and hope they forgive thee for even attempting to join with Melkor. Or, thee can come with me, finish the journey and do what thee intended to, when thee came to Endor." Again, but tentatively he offered his hand with open palm and welcoming manner. Though his face betrayed little emotion or thought hidden behind grayed eyes of his choosing.

She brought right hand to cheeks and wiped them away. And with her left hand, silently, but with heavy breath and shaking figure, took his hand. He nodded to her, and she to him without words. And once more as wandering shadow and dimmed light they broke forwards to the battle beyond for closer a look at what carnage lay there. What fruits were born of war.

* * *

**Authors Note: **To anyone reading this from before I'm sorry about the late update, school, and other story priorities had me concerned elsewhere but I hope to continue this story now at least for a few chapters before and IF I need a break. :)

Note: If and likely when you find a spelling or grammatical error please do one of two things. Either tell me about it so I can fix it, or try to ignore it and note that I am merely human and have no beta for this story and spellcheck gets lazy on me, plus Tolkien words aren't in the dictionary. Oh and no I'm not looking for a beta as of right now. I apologize this chapter is a wee bit shorter than the last three especially the first, but I am getting back into the swing of things and frankly this chapter had little to offer anyways. Next will be more exciting I feel. Seeing as we get into movie dialogue territory and meeting of the Fellowship. :D

If any questions are to be asked or some juicy reviews to be made shoot them to me, and let's see where this story takes us eh? Thanks again to all reading be you new or old, and until the next one! :)


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